Child of Hogwarts, Part III: The Master of Death
by AimeretVivre
Summary: Third in the COH series; sequel to 'Part II: The Marauder Legacy.' Follows Harry through the summer and into year four. As the dawn of war draws closer and international students pour into Hogwarts, Harry faces his greatest challenges yet; Severus struggles with the imminent return of an unwanted assignment; and Albus balances the Dark Lords of past and present.
1. The Yew Wand

**A/N:** At long last… Welcome to COH, Part III: The Master of Death! Beyond excited to begin this instalment of our tale, which will see new POVs, new adventures, and much, _much_ darker happenings. I hope you enjoy the ride.

This chapter, like all my introductory chapters, should be treated as a 'prologue' and is therefore shorter than those which will follow. Because I try to post the first instalment of a new Part and the final of the previous book at the same time, I will post all review responses for the last chapter of Part II and this first chapter of Part III at the end of Part III, Chapter 2. I promise the interlude will be short – the chapter is already completed and just in editing now.

Enjoy 'The Yew Wand', and…

 **Please** **read and review**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 1: The Yew Wand**

The scent of fear was thick upon the air, enveloping the two figures in the clearing.

With the birth of the seventh month, one would have expected southern Europe to be balmy; perhaps even unbearably warm. And yet this particular patch of wood was steeped in an unnatural chill that stunted the growth of flowering plants and sent forest creatures scurrying away through the underbrush.

The woman floated a few feet off the ground, spinning slowly, bound ankles to neck by thick, tight ropes. She had large, deep brown eyes, widened in terror and leaking tears onto the ground as she stared ahead, unable to move. Her colourless hair fell dully to cover one side of her face, then the other, as she turned like a hen upon a spit.

The man held the wand.

His hand was shaking as he kept the woman aloft, and every few seconds she dropped an inch or two. He was pale and perspiring: sweat glistening on the bald patch in the middle of his mousy hair. He did not weep, as the woman did, but his eyes were terrified as he darted them between whatever lay ahead and the darkened trees that surrounded their clearing.

They were weak. Pathetic, the pair of them. The man he might have killed on sight, had he been capable of the task…

But perhaps… there was possibility.

Clearly the man had sought him out – the first to do so, in more than twelve years. He was cowardly and small; of negligible magical talent and no particular interest. A snivelling man far more likely to fall in line in hopes of escaping death than stand for any principle. A man with no higher cause, other than his own survival.

Which made his appearance all the more intriguing… this person who would be the last he'd expect to come to his aide, when he himself was incapable of providing much in the way of defence.

'You are holding my wand,' he whispered. His voice seeped like a breeze through the wood.

The man jumped violently, and the woman fell almost to the forest floor before he righted the spell again.

'Ye-yes, my Lord,' the man confirmed. His voice was high and squeaky, exactly as it had been all those years ago… when this worthless little man had gifted him the information he sought above all else.

And sent him to his destruction.

'You are holding _my_ wand,' he repeated.

His voice was no higher, but this time the trees groaned their protest as a chill joined the breeze. A few forest rodents scampered hurriedly into deeper cover.

The man shivered. 'A – a gift, my Lord,' he said quickly, his eyes on the forest floor. This time he allowed the woman to fall to the ground without an attempt to right her.

'How?' he demanded.

The man swallowed. 'I… I went to the house, that night, my Lord,' he said in a quiet, excited rush. 'I sought you immediately – I sought, sought to aid you –'

'You _lie_ ,' he whispered.

The wind kicked up again as his voice gathered strength.

'You did not come for me, Peter… you came when you felt the mark upon your arm burn… and saw it fade. You came in _fear_ , as you have always lived your life. Do not _lie_ to me, Peter… Even after all this time, surely you recall how I feel about deception? Look up!'

The man raised small, terrified eyes, and he fell into their depths. It was harder: in this state. He could not have done it to many; but Pettigrew's mind was weak and thoroughly unprotected.

 _He saw the memory of the night, the foremost thought in the man's head. Saw a younger, slightly fatter and just as sweaty man running through an open door… gulping thickly as he stepped over the body of the man he'd betrayed… taking the steps two at a time toward the nursery, where that insufferable child was wailing insistently…_

 _He felt ill at the sight of it – the blown apart room. There was the boy, holding the bars of his cot and screaming his distress, a jagged cut bleeding on his forehead. The child stopped his wailing when Pettigrew entered the nursery, hiccupping himself into calm as he stared up through huge, emerald eyes. He half-moved his hands, as though hoping the newcomer would lift him… Recognising him, perhaps…_

 _But Pettigrew spared the boy only a glance, looking more terrified than he had yet that evening. His eyes fell to the mudblood: sprawled on the floor where she had died for her scrap of a son. The child began to wail again at the resumption of his neglect._

 _The yew wand was inches from the woman's face._

 _Pettigrew bent, taking the weapon in shaking hands…_

 _And there was a distant creak on the stairs, the sounds of someone running… another, come to see the destruction that had befallen this forsaken house._

 _Pettigrew darted a petrified glance toward the open door, clutching the wand tight to his chest like a child hiding a broken jug._

 _And he spun on the spot, disapparating._

'You took it in fear,' the Dark Lord spat as the man gave a yowl and fell to his knees, clutching at his head. 'You feared your treachery would be discovered… feared what they would do to you, _Wormtail_.'

The man gave an involuntary flinch.

'That was what they called you, was it not?' he continued in a whisper. 'Your _friends_ … it was clear in your mind, Peter. _Wormtail_ … an apt name, for a rat in every sense. I think I will take up the tradition.'

'M-my Lord,' the man pleaded. 'My Lord, please, I never –'

'What did you do with my wand, Wormtail?' he cut across him.

Wormtail swallowed hard again.

'I – I brought it to my mother's house, my Lord,' he said squeakily. 'In Ulster. There's… there's a old tree in the garden, with a hollow. I placed it there, protected with a charm. I thought – thought to keep it safe for you, for your return.'

'Such _liesssss_ ,' he said again, the word becoming a hiss. From the shadows, a great green snake slithered forward at his crooning. The man jumped backward in panic again as she came, but wisely did not run.

'You hid the wand for your own sake, Wormtail,' Voldemort continued. 'You hid it to keep your treachery in the shadows. You feared a Ministry inquiry would examine the wand, and that it would prove your allegiance to me… It would have been very difficult to go to ground then, wouldn't it? If the world had known who gave the Potters up.'

Wormtail swallowed heavily. 'I – my Lord,' he threw himself prostrate to the ground, in a placating bow. 'My Lord, I am weak. You have always known this. I – I do not deserve your forgiveness or your trust. You are right, of course you're right. I could never keep secrets from you… I am not a brave man, my Lord. I never have been. I hid the wand, and then I faked my own death. The Wizarding World thought Sirius Black the Order's traitor; they blamed him for the Potters' deaths and… and for mine. It was the only way I could stay free… the only way I could aid you.'

'And yet you did _not_ ,' Lord Voldemort noted.

The breeze kicked up again, and the snake began to hiss. Wormtail whimpered on the ground.

'You did not,' he repeated. 'You could have killed the brat that night… and you did not. You have been free these twelve years hence, yet you have never sought me until now. Why, I wonder…'

'I –'

'Look up!' he commanded again. And, again, he threw himself into the man's mind, searching the answers for himself. He was drained when at last he emerged, leaving Wormtail snivelling on the forest floor once more… he was not strong enough for these repeated attacks.

'You spent three years in Harry Potter's company,' he hissed. 'Three _years_ , Wormtail. You did not kill him –'

'I knew you wanted him, my Lord,' Wormtail insisted, sweating more heavily still. 'I did not wish to take that from you; did not want to steal your –'

'You could have brought him to me,' Voldemort pointed out. 'Clearly, you were capable of finding me. It took you not a month. You could have _brought_ me Harry Potter, had you not delayed your return to the moment when you could no longer outrun those you had once counted friends.'

'I – I should have thought it through, my Lord,' Wormtail apologised. 'I did not know you were–'

'You knew,' the Dark Lord disagreed. 'You _knew_ , Wormtail, that I survived. You knew it from the beginning… and certainly you knew from two years ago. You were at Hogwarts when I sought the philosopher's stone. You did not come because you _feared_ the responsibility. You feared the danger, as you have always done. You would not return now, while I am still next to helpless, if you were not out of options...'

'I – no, my Lord,' Wormtail disagreed fervently. 'That is not why I have –'

'Enough,' Voldemort said lazily. And Pettigrew broke off as if suddenly struck dumb.

'I am weary of excuses, Wormtail. But what am I to do with you, I wonder? Perhaps dinner, for Nagini…'

He hissed, and the snake lifted her head. Wormtail gave a squeal of panic.

'No, my Lord!' he insisted. 'I… I have found you. I have come to… to be useful, my Lord. To help you to return.'

'And how,' Voldemort challenged, 'Could you possibly assist in that? You are believed dead by most of the wizarding world. Your body would be ill-equipped for possession, as doing so would mean you could not transfigure or disguise yourself through magical means. You are a mediocre wizard at best… not the person I would trust, Wormtail, with the delicate magic required to remake a body. I can think of no purpose you might serve, and every possibility that your continued existence might bring the Aurors down upon my current whereabouts.'

'The… the girl,' Wormtail said desperately, pointing the middle finger of his mangled hand at the bound woman on the ground. 'I brought her for you, my Lord. As a gift. To show my –'

'You brought her in cowardice,' Voldemort disagreed dismissively. 'In cowardice, and with little other choice. She recognised you, did she not? And what were you to do with her… kill her in the wayside inn where you'd met over pints? Leave her body for the Aurors to follow? No… you had little choice but to lure her away; subdue her, bring her to me… You hoped I would get rid of her for you; that you need not kill her yourself. Did you not? You are using _my_ wand, after all… you have no wand of your own. You could not hope to wield its power. Not enough for _that_ curse. For _my_ wand, like its master… rejects weakness, Wormtail…'

The man snivelled on his knees in the earth. 'It's true, my Lord,' he grovelled tearfully. 'It's true. I could not hope to use its power… could not hope to do this on my own. But I would have killed her the Muggle way, master. I _would_ have. But she… she is a _Ministry_ witch, my Lord. And she has information… I thought it might be useful to have –'

'Ministry?' Voldemort cut in, interested for the first time. 'What department?'

'Ma-Magical Games and Sports, my Lord,' Wormtail squeaked out. 'She was at school with me, you see. A few years older. She's called Bertha Jorkins.'

'A fairly useless department,' he said dismissively, his momentary excitement fading again. 'But still… worth investigating, to be sure. Hold her head up for me, Wormtail…'

Pettigrew was quick to obey, shuffling over toward the fallen and bound woman and shifting her. He lifted her head by the chin, forcing her face upward.

 _He fell into her mind as he had done to Pettigrew's, ignoring the exhaustion of a third attack. Hers was nearly as pliable… yet, there was something off about this one's thoughts: something stale; unnatural…_

He pulled out again.

'Remove her gag, Wormtail,' he hissed.

The man's eyes widened, but he hastened to obey. He tore the wad of fabric from between the woman's teeth, and she coughed and sputtered; her head, now Wormtail had released his hold on her, lolling against the earth.

Disgusting.

'Look at me, woman,' he commanded.

Bertha Jorkins choked out another whimper, her shoulders heaving in their restraints.

'You do not wish me to force you,' he warned. His voice was still a whisper, but the chill of the breeze underscored his threat. Trembling, the woman turned her chin.

'Very good,' Lord Voldemort praised. 'Who are you, girl?'

'I… Bertha,' she squealed, terrified. 'I beg you, please! I'm just… just Bertha, Bertha Jorkins. I live in London, alone. I'm just on holiday here – for a few weeks. I work at the Ministry like… like he said. But I don't have an important post; I never have… And I don't have anything that could –'

He rushed her mind again, just to shut her up. She was howling when he withdrew.

'I do not require a monologue,' he told her. He watched her weep for a moment, deep in contemplation.

He had never heard of this woman before… she was of no importance, as far as he knew. She had no magical defences to speak of; no power that thrummed in the air. Yet the charm was a strong one, and placed by a talented hand.

'Who put the block upon your mind?' he demanded harshly.

The woman was quaking, but her face was confused. She shook her head. 'I… I don't know what you…'

'My Lord?' Pettigrew asked, brow furrowed.

'Her mind has been tampered with,' the Dark Lord explained. 'A Memory Charm, and a powerful one… too powerful, in fact. It has done permanent damage.'

'I… what are you –'

' _Silence_!' he commanded.

The woman, like the man before her, fell quiet as if choked.

Wormtail's eyes were full of fear. 'I did not,' he said, panic in his voice again. 'My Lord, it was not –'

He gave a high, cold laugh. 'Of course it was not you, Wormtail,' he mocked. 'I said the charm was _powerful_ , did I not? No… but it is a most curious phenomenon. There are not many who could perform such a spell. And memory charms are highly regulated, after all. Nearly always illegal. A Healer might have dabbled… but I doubt even the fools at the Ministry would have kept her about, had they known her psyche was damaged at St Mungo's. Which means this charm was placed by another… One of their own, perhaps, acting without authority; or the Order; or else, it was one done by one of _mine_ …'

The snake began to circle, hissing softly.

'Which begs the question,' the Dark Lord continued softly. 'What is it you have in your mind, Bertha Jorkins, that someone would rather you did not? What knowledge do you keep… that poses a threat to either the Ministry or Albus Dumbledore… or to the Death Eaters?'

The woman's quaking had grown so great that the earth around her shook with her terror. A puddle had formed beneath her, and Wormtail wrinkled his nose as he took a small step out of range.

'I… I have _nothing_ , sir,' the woman squeaked. 'Please! I swear it – I… I don't know this Order, or any of your… your followers. I haven't spoken to Dumbledore since I left school almost twenty years ago! There is nothing I can –'

'I think,' Lord Voldemort said lazily, 'That I would prefer to be sure, Bertha. I would prefer to see, for myself…'

'My Lord?' Wormtail questioned in a hoarse whisper. 'If… if there is a block upon her memory…'

'Charms can be broken, Wormtail,' he replied. 'You, of all wizards, ought to remember that much. But to do so shall require the use of a wand…'

Wormtail swallowed heavily, raising the Dark Lord's own in shaking hands. 'I can… I shall try,' he said. 'If you can tell me –'

Lord Voldemort laughed again. 'Oh no, Wormtail,' he disagreed. 'No… I shall need to do this one myself. But you… you would do well not to resist…'

He moved closer. Wormtail realised, at the last moment, what he planned to do. His beady eyes went wide in alarm, the flash of an instinct to flee ran through his thoughts…

But it had happened before he could move.

 _He opened eyes that were not his; raised a mangled, sweaty hand. The woman was sobbing, her eyes bugging out as she watched him advance – his own stride more straight-backed and confident than this body had ever known. He could feel the turmoil of Wormtail's panic, trapped as he was in the recesses of his own mind… but Lord Voldemort's magic was far more powerful._

 _The wand, even held in Pettigrew's hand, could feel its master's Core within. The reunion sent a wave of heat through his borrowed bones and, as he flexed Wormtail's fingers over its handle, the yew wand sent forth a burst of green light that sheared the nearest oak tree in two._

 _He turned it on the woman, the heady sense of purpose he had so missed these long years building in his soul…_

It was hours later that he finally released his servant, returning to his own pitiable state.

He had debated remaining. Weak and pathetic though the wizard might be… it _was_ a body. A human body. And he had not had that prospect for more than two years. But to perform magic, through another, was difficult and draining… even with his own precious weapon. Quirrell he could allow to cast on his own; but Quirrell had not been believed dead. Quirrell could mingle in society – Wormtail could not. If he had to flee because Wormtail was discovered, he would be without a servant, once again. And even still, prolonged possession could kill Pettigrew before Lord Voldemort had obtained what he needed. The risk was too great… and he must not squander another opportunity.

Not when Peter – foolish, pathetic little Peter – had unwittingly handed him the greatest opportunity he had seen since the moment he fled that accursed nursery, through this Ministry witch…

Not when there was another out there… one who _could_ assist in helping him to rise again…

Not when there was a way to get to Harry Potter…

No. He needed a body of his own.

Wormtail moaned, coming to on the leaf strewn ground. He clutched at his head as he pulled himself to his knees. His watering eyes focused on the woman. She was not weeping, any longer.

She, perhaps, _might_ have been useful for possession… but no soul could inhabit her body now. She was a ruined husk: staring vacantly through unseeing eyes; bits of spittle and blood oozing from the corner of her mouth, smearing the pink lipstick she had worn when she so unwisely entered the roadside inn. Lord Voldemort had severed her bonds. There was no longer a chance that she might flee. Her limbs were askew at unnatural angles, their flesh battered and leaking. Most of the wounds he could not have repaired even should he be inclined to do so.

There had been no choice. Her information was far more valuable than her pitiful shell.

'You will have heard everything, Wormtail,' he observed.

'Ye…yes, my Lord,' the man whispered back. 'If he is alive…'

'I cannot make the journey back like this,' the Dark Lord continued. 'There is a task I must complete… and then, I shall need a body, for the transport.'

'You… you wish to use mine?' Pettigrew asked, his terror paramount once more.

'No,' Lord Voldemort answered. 'Yours is ill-adept for such a purpose, and for such a time. But you will help me to create one… a temporary solution, until I can truly rise again. Take the woman's wand… it, perhaps, might bend more easily to your inferiority.'

'Anything,' the man said, bowing low again in his relief. 'Anything you need, my Lord, I shall do it. You have my undying –'

'I will need to rest, before we might begin,' he said. 'There is a cave, just beyond the ridge. Come… you will need to milk Nagini.'

The man rose to unsteady feet, brushing the forest from his knees. He lumbered forward to retrieve the woman's weapon. Then he paused, staring down at her broken form.

'What of the girl, my Lord?'

'Keep her, for now,' the Dark Lord insisted. 'I will have a use for her yet.'

'My Lord, she is damaged beyond repair,' Wormtail pointed out, looking ill.

'Yet she is alive,' Voldemort countered. 'And thus, she can be killed.'

'My Lord?' Wormtail asked in confusion.

'Death can serve a purpose, Wormtail,' the Dark Lord explained. 'And hers… hers will. _Come, Nagini_ ,' he finished in parseltongue.

The great snake gave a compliant hiss, and followed her master's shadow toward the cave.

More than a thousand miles away, Harry Potter screamed himself awake.


	2. In the Devil's Hour

**A/N:** A _huge_ thank you to everyone who read and reviewed: I have posted responses for both Part II and Chapter One of Part III at the end of the chapter.

In writing one response to a reviewer, I have also realised that it is high-time I gave a much-deserved shout-out to Lizzie – one of my best friends and my oft-informal Beta. She has been such a darling for the entire year and a half or so I have been working on this series, including her willingness to answer late-night rings with demands to read over a chapter 'right this moment, I'll wait!'; patience to _stay_ on said mobile while I force her to parse through every interaction with me and quibble over what ought to be cut, expanded or reworked; toleration for two-hour musings on plot points and every possible implication they might conceivably have; stamina for tearful and/or angry rants about future plans for beloved characters (sometimes mine, sometimes hers, I must admit); and general use as a perfect sounding board for all my thoughts and ideas on this universe. And, of course, I must thank her most for being there _outside_ of Harry Potter, for literally every treasured moment and horrible tragedy in my life… and, currently, for watching my fussing babies while my husband is working so I might post this in a timely fashion.

In short, Lizzie, to quote my Harry from a chapter that is truly dedicated to your unequivocal friendship: 'I can't do this… can't be me, without you.'

Enjoy 'The Devil's Hour', and…

 **Please** **read and review**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **Chapter 2: In the Devil's Hour**

' _Arrrrggghhh_!'

Harry awoke with a start, drenched in sweat with his stomach roiling. He clapped his hands to his face immediately, where searing pain was shooting across his forehead and nearly blinding him.

'Harry!'

Someone banged his door open, flicking on the light as they entered. Harry was too overcome by the pain to register the arrival clearly, until the man began pulling at his hands. There were sounds of other people entering the room now.

'Harry? Merlin, what is it? Move your hands so I can –'

'For the love of God, boy, cut your carrying on this minute!'

'Really! It's three o'clock in the –'

'Muuuum, what's all –'

'Harry, come now, let me –'

The cacophonous voices were compounding the pain in his head, as was the glare of the overhead light. Harry was struck suddenly, even through his agony, by how much brighter Muggle lighting was than candlelight. He wished he were in the familiar comfort of the castle.

The excruciating pain reached new heights…

Harry rolled away from the hovering man and sicked up all over the carpet. There were hands on his back and chest, someone keeping him from pitching forward off the bed.

'On _our_ carpet, Boy! I'll have your –'

'Gross!'

'Diddy, darling, go on back to bed, he might be con–'

'Harry, hush, it's alright,' a voice said at his ear. 'It's alright, come on now.'

'It is bloody _not_ alright!' another, familiar voice bellowed.

Harry realised his uncle was in the room. He shivered despite himself. In fact, he couldn't _stop_ his shivering, now he'd started…

'What about our carpet, eh? We let the boy in the house for one week. With a _guest_ , no less. Gracious as you please… and not five days in he's set out to destroy –'

'Mr Dursley, I suggest you leave,' the kind man said, his own tone much harsher. 'Take your wife and son back to bed. I shall deal with both Harry and the floor, I assure you.'

His uncle gave a mumbled retort, but Harry heard his door slam again and heavy footsteps retreating up the corridor. Nausea at last subsiding, he opened his eyes into Remus's anxious face.

'Remus,' he said croakily. 'The dream – I, I'm sorry.'

'It isn't your fault, Harry,' Remus said soothingly. He pressed a hand to Harry's forehead.

Harry hissed, arching his back at the contact as searing pain threatened to split him in two again. Remus drew the hand back quickly, looking even more concerned.

'What is it? Did you hit your head?'

'N-no,' said Harry shakily, trying to breathe down the new wave of sickness that had arisen at Remus's touch. 'I don't think so, but it's… Merlin, it _hurts_.'

'Your head?' Remus asked, lighting the end of his wand. 'Lean forward, I need to check your eyes for –'

Harry shook his head – just a fraction, as his stomach was still churning threateningly. 'Not – not my head, exactly,' he clarified as Remus brought the tip of his wand close to his face. 'It's… I think it's my scar.'

Remus froze, his frown deepening. Very slowly, he reached out his free hand again and brushed Harry's fringe from his face, careful not to touch his skin. He stared closely at the scar. Harry tried not to flinch away this time.

'It looks inflamed,' Remus said gravely. 'It hurts when I touch it?'

Harry nodded. 'It's getting better,' he said, still breathing heavily. 'But the dream… it was… I can't remember…'

He shivered again.

'You were having a nightmare,' Remus clarified. He let Harry's hair fall back into place, conjuring a glass of water. 'Drink something, you're sweating up a storm.'

Harry took the glass in trembling hands, but dared not test his stomach with the liquid. He was still trying to recall the dream.

'I haven't had one that bad in ages,' he admitted. 'Not with the sicking up and everything… not since before the Chamber of Secrets, when Ginny had the diary.'

Remus was still frowning at him. 'Drink the water,' he said again, nodding at the glass in Harry's hand. Harry obeyed, managing a few sips… but the nausea hit again as he adjusted himself on the bed, and Remus quickly rescued the glass and conjured a basin as he coughed and sputtered on the edge of retching.

'Easy… easy,' Remus shushed him, rubbing at his back again as Harry brought the water straight back up. He finished, and Remus banished the basin, easing him back against the pillows as he shook.

'I think I'd better send for something,' he told Harry seriously, handing him a damp flannel to wipe his face. 'A potion for your stomach or a fever reducer, at least; you're burning up.'

'I'm fine,' Harry said automatically.

Remus glowered. 'Clearly not,' he disagreed. 'Perhaps supper was off. I thought that takeaway looked a bit…'

Harry shook his head. 'No,' he said firmly. 'Supper was fine. It's… this happens, sometimes, when the dreams are really bad. Like I said, it's been a while, but it's always gone by the morning.'

Remus did not look convinced, still studying Harry's face. 'You said your scar was hurting,' he repeated. 'Is that usual, from these dreams?'

Harry thought about it, frowning himself. 'I… I'm not really sure,' he admitted. 'My head, definitely… and sometimes I've been sick. But I think this is the first time I really registered the pain was in my _scar_ , particularly. At least in a nightmare. The only other time it felt like this was with Quirrell, when he was hosting Voldemort… when he was near me.'

He looked at Remus, who was now staring at the opposite wall, his arms crossed as he contemplated the street outside Harry's darkened window. Harry could see only the reflection of his own room with the overhead light still glaring… but it was enough that he could watch Remus' jaw working in stress.

'Do… do you think that matters?'

He felt childish for asking; like a toddler in need of comfort. But he couldn't shake the terror that this nightmare had left him with…

Which was silly. Voldemort could not be _here,_ on Privet Drive. That was the whole reason that Dumbledore had sent him back in the first place. Because Voldemort _couldn't_ get to him, as long as he had his mother's protection. Being with Petunia Dursley was supposed to make him untouchable. It was _supposed_ to make him safer.

'I don't know…' Remus answered slowly, sounding deep in thought. He turned his gaze back to Harry. 'Do you remember what happened in the dream?'

Harry shrugged. 'Not really,' he said. 'I don't always – just flashes of it. But I think… I think Voldemort was there,' he said quietly. Remus's brow contracted, and Harry squirmed under the gaze.

'A memory?' Remus asked sharply.

Harry shook his head. 'No…' he said, trying to dredge his mind for the details. 'We were in a forest, I think.'

'The Forest at Hogwarts?' Remus pressed. He pulled the chair around from Harry's desk, straddling it as he interrogated him. Harry noticed he was twirling his wand between his fingers. 'Perhaps you were dreaming of the night you saw Quirrell, and the pain might have been –'

'No,' Harry disagreed. Of this, he was certain. 'It _wasn't_ a memory, Remus. This was different. And it wasn't the Forbidden Forest, but I sort of recognised it; like I've seen the place in photos, maybe… I don't think I've been there before. There was a woman on the ground, I think. And… and Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew was with him. He brought him a wand.'

Remus tensed at the name. Harry saw his hands clench into tight fists. The echo of the end of term was heavy in the air, and Harry felt guilty for mentioning the traitor at all.

'I – I'm sorry,' he muttered. 'I don't know why I'm getting all shook up. You were probably right before; it's just a dream. Let's just forget about it.'

But Remus was shaking his head, getting to his feet. 'Try to drink the water, Harry,' he said, voice comforting despite the set of his jaw. 'And relax… I need to step out for a moment; speak with Dumbledore.'

'You're going?' asked Harry, chiding himself for the plea in his voice again. Remus gave him a reassuring smile.

'Just to Arabella's,' he clarified. 'We need to tell Albus immediately. He'd want to know that… that you fell ill.'

'It's three o'clock in the morning, and I'm not –' Harry began, embarrassed. But Remus raised a hand to cut him off.

'He needs to know about the dream, Harry,' he said firmly. 'I'll be back in a few minutes.'

Harry nodded in resignation, reaching for the water again. Luckily, his stomach seemed to have finished its revolt and the drink stayed down this time. Remus brushed a hand lightly over the top of his head, and swept from the room.

Harry sighed, leaning back against the iron frame of the little bed. He could hear his uncle's booming snores through the wall, and Dudley's slightly-less thunderous noises from down the corridor. At least the Dursleys seemed to have gone back to sleep. He was sure they'd be _livid_ with him tomorrow, for waking them up _and_ for vomiting all over Petunia's garish peach carpet. Which Remus had cleaned up so perfectly, it was quite as spotless as Petunia always kept it.

Not that it would save him from an earful.

There was a time when his aunt and uncle's reaction would have been the foremost concern in Harry's mind. A time when the prospect of a lot of shouting, a day of backbreaking scrubbing, and several perhaps-not-empty threats would have been what chilled him to the bone. But it was not what kept him up, tonight. In many ways, in fact, Harry Potter almost longed for the days when Uncle Vernon would have been his greatest worry.

At least Uncle Vernon slept. Dark magic, on the other hand, never did seem to.

He rolled onto his side, trying to get warm beneath the blankets… trying to calm his still-racing heart. He wasn't nauseated anymore, but he could still feel the after-effects of the dream in his quaking limbs and sweaty sheets.

It was _his_ fault – these stupid dreams. He knew to block his mind; knew to use the Occlumency techniques he'd worked out with the headmaster. But it was so much harder in this house. He was too acutely miserable, even with Remus in tow, to bother shutting his mind to additional bad thoughts. He didn't exactly _welcome_ the nightmares… but he did nothing to stop them, either.

Voldemort…

This hadn't been a normal nightmare. It hadn't been like the memories of retrieving the philosopher's stone, or the fight in the bowels of the castle, or the night he'd rescued Sirius, or the day he'd been tortured in Edinburgh; nor even of the night his parents were killed. It was more like the dream he'd had two Christmases ago: of Ginny and the diary and the green fire… or that summer he'd first stayed at Hogwarts, when he'd dreamed about –

 _The Forest._

That same forest… that's where this dream had been. _That's_ why he recognised it. Deravica… was that what the headmaster had called the place? Was that where Voldemort was, now? Had the dream been real? Was Pettigrew with him?

 _The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid; greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight... before midnight... the servant... will set out... to re-join... his master..._

Harry shuddered again as he heard Trelawney's words replay in his mind. Had it happened? Had her prophecy come to pass? Was it _his_ fault, if it had? He'd let the traitor go, after all… he'd stopped Sirius and Remus and Snape killing him… he'd started the whole chain of catastrophic events. Whatever Albus had tried to say in comfort, Harry knew that much was true.

And now…

Was the Dark Lord about to rise, again?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus woke abruptly, sweating and shaking with the bedclothes twisted tight around him like a cocoon. He thought, for a moment, that it had been the old nightmare that roused him. It would not be the first time.

 _A blown-apart house; red hair splayed across the floor; dead, frozen green eyes; a child's wailing…_

And then he felt it. And he realised: it had not been the dream that shook him awake.

 _No_ …

He felt his heart pounding in his ears as his hand fumbled beneath the pillow for his wand. He flicked a wrist at the candle on the nightstand, brightening the flame… and he pulled up his left sleeve with a trembling hand.

There it was. The brand that had defined him; changed him; forever altered his life. Forever ended so many others. The immovable, irreversible gift… the Dark Lord's highest honour that Severus had been so eager to receive; lusted and schemed and pined for; and been granted at last when he imparted the knowledge that would become his greatest regret.

Now etched in his skin for eternity, as enduringly as each of his sins was branded on his soul.

But his heartrate slowed a fraction as he considered the Mark. It was not black and searing after all. This was not a Summons. The twinge he'd felt, at least from his exterior brand, was the ghost of pain.

Still, it _was_ there. Slight and subtle, but definitely present. Like phantom limb.

And the Mark… it was not next to invisible, as it had been for more than twelve years. It was not a faintly pink outline against the white skin. It was, undeniably, clearer. Visible.

Darker.

He swallowed hard, letting the sleeve of his nightshirt fall again, covering the skull and snake.

Dumbledore. He had to tell Albus, now.

Severus shot a glance at his watch; it was three o'clock in the morning. 'Devil's hour,' as his father had used to call it. How fitting.

With a snarl, Severus disentangled himself from the bedcovers back and climbed off the mattress, hastily tying a dressing gown around his waist. He tried to ignore how difficult it seemed to tie the sash; how much his hands still quaked.

If the Dark Lord had returned… if he was gaining strength once more…

Dumbledore.

Albus would know; he always did. Albus would have an answer.

Forgoing the floo, he decided to take the many flights to the headmaster's office by foot – let the walk calm his frayed nerves and turn his concern into anger. He was not sure, on the whole, it helped.

'Albus!' Severus called, banging open the door to the study without invitation.

As he should have anticipated, the headmaster's office was in near total darkness; the whirring of a few silvery instruments and the soft crackling of the ever-burning fire the only disturbance in the otherwise silent room. Fawkes started awake at his sudden entrance, giving a trill that was almost a squawk of indignation. Severus glared at the bird. He was too far past fear to muster embarrassment.

He did feel a shadow of remorse, however, when the headmaster appeared on the winding staircase, hurrying down from his bedchamber with his spectacles slightly askew and his dressing gown only half fastened over a spangled nightshirt. It was clear his bellowed summons had drawn Dumbledore from sleep.

'Good gracious, Severus!' he said in alarm, coming to a halt at the bottom of the steps and straightening the sash of the gown. 'I had thought you were mortally injured, the way you shouted. What on earth has happened?'

In answer, Severus strode to the foot of the staircase to meet him. He yanked up the sleeve of his dressing gown, flipping his forearm so the headmaster could see. Even with only the low-burning fire for light, the shadow of the Mark was plainly visible.

Albus paled.

'It was like this when I awakened,' Severus said in a low hiss. 'It has not been this clear, Albus, in nearly thirteen years.'

Slowly, Albus took the Potion Master's arm between his hands. His crooked nose nearly touched the man's skin as he held it close to his half-moon spectacles and turned it lightly to examine the skull and snake brand. After a moment, he ran one long finger over the twisted asp, tracing its outline. Severus could not suppress a shudder.

The headmaster lifted his gaze, his expression grave.

'Come closer to the fire,' he said, dropping Severus' arm at last.

Severus let his dressing gown fall back over the Dark Mark, unable to look at it any longer. He followed Dumbledore toward the sitting area, though neither man sought a chair. On his golden perch, Fawkes was silent as he watched them through doleful eyes. The phoenix's lack of contribution irrationally unnerved Severus.

'What happened tonight?' the headmaster demanded. He paced before the hearth as he spoke, his fingers at his chin.

Severus crossed his arms, scowling. He felt agitated; trapped by the stillness of his stance. He wanted to walk about the room… but they could not both wear a path in the hearthrug.

'I do not know,' he said at last. 'There was no sign of it this evening. I was brewing until midnight or so… and I awoke about twenty minutes ago. It was the Mark, I think, that did it.'

Albus paused in his tread, looking up abruptly. 'Not a Summons?' he asked sharply. 'It did not seem –'

'No,' Severus denied. 'Not a Summons. It would have been burnt black, if that were the case; and the pain, as you know, would not fade before I answered the call. This was a mere echo of pain: a mild irritation. It was so muted, I might have been unsure whether it was merely a resurfacing of memory that caused it… had I not noticed the visible change.'

Albus was still watching him, his eyes tight. 'Has this happened before?' he asked, very quietly.

Severus jerked his head irritably. 'Obviously not,' he spat. 'Or I would not have disturbed your rest, headmaster.'

Albus' gaze did not falter. 'That is not what I meant, Severus.'

Severus stared straight back, determined not to show his discomfiture. 'I dream, occasionally,' he allowed at last. 'It is not a common occurrence, and it isn't the point. The pain has never been actual; not since the Dark Lord fell. And the Mark has never darkened before… not even when he was at the castle, possessing Quirrell.'

Albus did not look appeased, but he broke the eye-contact at last, resuming his path along the edge of the fire. Severus could hear whispering behind him, and turned to see four or five of the portraits were no longer feigning sleep, but muttering to one another as they watched the scene below.

Severus tracked the headmaster's march, waiting for him to speak. The silence dragged on, fraying his nerves with each passing second. Eventually, Severus could stand the quiet no longer.

'You do not think it possible Pettigrew has already –'

'No,' Albus cut across him. 'I think it highly unlikely that Lord Voldemort has managed to return already. Even assuming Pettigrew has found him… the magic involved in accomplishing such a feat would be extraordinary at a minimum. I cannot imagine it could be so quickly done. And in any case, it does not fit with the purported timeline…'

'What timeline?' Severus queried sharply. He had winced more than usual at the headmaster's use of the name; and he thought, perhaps, the Mark gave another twinge… but perchance it was all in his head.

Albus hesitated, giving him a piercing look. 'Just a hunch of my own,' he answered, though Severus got the distinct impression the headmaster was evading the point. 'But I suspect, Severus, this incident tonight is just the beginning. The first sign, that Lord Voldemort's quest to rise again has truly begun.'

Severus flinched again. Then he frowned. 'You think the traitor has managed to locate him already?' he challenged. 'It has been scarcely more than a fortnight, Albus…'

'Perfectly true,' the headmaster conceded. 'But Pettigrew – as I keep telling you, Severus – is not to be underestimated. If he has shown aptitude for anything thus far, it is his indubitable skill in evasion and his ability to be where he means to be. I would not be surprised to learn he has located his Master… after all, Lord Voldemort's general location was hardly a secret, if one knew where to begin.'

Severus scowled again. 'So what now, Albus?' he demanded. 'We sit here and wait? Hope that Pettigrew does not have to skill to succeed in assisting the Dark Lord's return? Or chalk up to _fate_ the eventuality of his triumph…'

'Oh no,' Dumbledore disagreed. 'No, Severus… We do what we have already discussed. We watch, and we prepare. The events of tonight, in fact, may be a stroke of fortune.'

' _Fortune_?' Severus repeated, shocked and more than a touch disgusted. 'You consider it _fortunate_ , headmaster, that the Mark returns?'

'Yes,' Albus confirmed seriously. 'Do not misunderstand me,' he went on, as Severus' face grew thunderous. 'I do not welcome it, by any means… I do not wish for you to be in pain, nor do I relish the fulfilment of Sybill's second prophecy. Never have I wished, Severus, that I was more mistaken…'

His eyes bored into Severus' once more, but the Potions Master could not bring himself to return the emotion in the gaze.

'However,' the headmaster went on, 'It _does_ present us with a more definite marker… even if our watch of former Death Eaters does not prove fruitful.'

The professor glared. 'I do not see it,' he admitted curtly. 'A marker how, Albus?'

The headmaster nodded toward his arm again. 'As you have so rightly pointed out,' he explained, 'The Mark has yet to burn black. And yet, it is certainly darker than it has been; visible, if still fairly faint… I strongly suspect that it will continue to darken as Lord Voldemort gains strength. He cast the spell with his own hand, after all. It is tied to his power and his magic… perhaps even to his very soul. As he nears a return, that magical force will increase. When he was vanquished nearly thirteen years ago, his Mark was similarly brought to the precipice of nonexistence. It is possible that in the course of his renewal, the opposite will hold true.'

'The Mark faded at once,' Severus pointed out. 'It was not gradual, Albus.'

'But Voldemort was ripped from his body,' Albus countered. 'A sudden, violent occurrence. I expect, when he does return to full strength, there will be a more dramatic transformation in the Mark as well… but if tonight's events are any indication, it is entirely possible there will be gradual change until that point. You will keep me informed?'

'Of course I will,' Severus growled.

Though he had come to this office of his own accord, he rather regretted the inclination. Nothing the headmaster had offered – beyond the reassurance that the Dark Lord was _not_ yet returned – brought him any particular comfort.

'Good,' Albus affirmed with a nod. 'Then I do not think there is much that might be done, in the meantime. There has been no activity with anyone that we have under our watch… but if Lord Voldemort is gaining strength, I suspect there will be additional signs shortly. No doubt they too will have felt the alteration tonight.'

'So I am… what, headmaster? To ladle my cauldron and hope that the Mark does not –'

'Albus.'

The voice came from the hearth, and both Severus and the headmaster whirled in surprise. Severus' eyes narrowed as he discerned Lupin's face in the flames, eyebrows raised as he considered the two men in the study.

'I – I apologise,' he said courteously, looking between the two. 'I hadn't thought anyone would be down at this hour. I was going to send an elf for you, headmaster.'

'What do you want?' Severus spat, slightly harsher than he'd intended. He could feel his cheeks heat a bit, as he tried to read in the wolf's expression whether he had heard any of their discussion.

Albus shot him a quelling look, but his face was all concern as he moved toward the fireplace. 'What is it, Remus?' he asked quietly.

'It's Harry,' the man said, ignoring Severus altogether as his gaze shifted to the headmaster. 'He's had a… well, I'm not sure, exactly. A nightmare, perhaps.'

Severus scoffed. 'A common occurrence,' he said dismissively. 'Hardly something to bother the headmaster with at three in the –'

'About Voldemort,' Remus cut in, still looking intently at Dumbledore.

Severus started at the name, hand reflexively jumping to his arm again. Albus looked sideways at him, his eyes piercing over the top of his spectacles, troubled and very serious.

'Indeed,' he said quietly, turning back for the fire. 'A memory?'

Lupin shook his head. The effect disturbed the embers, sparking against the wood. 'No,' he said, frowning. 'He says not. He claims to have seen Pettigrew, and a woman. In a forest.'

Albus's hands grew white against the marble of the mantel. Severus could read the tension in the set of his shoulders. Again, the old mage shot a significant look at the potions master.

'He's… he's ill,' Lupin continued, when the headmaster did not speak. 'The dream, or whatever it was, it made him ill. He woke up screaming and he was sick more than once; he has a fever…'

The headmaster stood himself straight again at once, running a hand over his beard. 'How high is the fever?' he asked. 'Does he need potions?'

The wolf bit his lip. 'I – I didn't check,' he admitted. 'But he felt quite warm to me. He refused potion, he says this has happened before and fades on its own.'

Albus frowned. 'The nightmares have been severe, yes,' he admitted. 'But I have never before seen him in such distress that he has vomited…'

'I have,' Severus put in.

Both Lupin and Albus turned to him in surprise. Severus scowled.

'Just the once,' he clarified. 'At Christmas, two years ago. Potter was sick to his stomach in a meeting with me, and he stated it was an effect of a nightmare.'

'You did not tell me,' Albus noted, frowning.

Severus crossed his arms. 'There were more important things on everyone's mind,' he pointed out. 'And there did not seem to be lasting danger.'

'Albus, there's something else,' Lupin said, looking more nervous still. The headmaster turned back toward him.

'He…' Lupin hesitated. 'He was in such pain, I could not touch him initially. He was holding his forehead and screaming. He says… Harry says it is his scar that is hurting him.'

There was a beat where all were silent.

'Headmaster…' Severus began, taking a step forward.

'Go back, Remus,' Albus said, reaching already for a jar on the mantel and cutting across Severus's speech. 'I am coming through.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Arabella Figg's home was much as Albus remembered. Comfortable sofas in deep maroon surrounded a blazing hearth, half-finished knitting patterns were arranged on an armchair, and a faint scent of sage tea lingered about the place. But there were subtle changes, too, since Arabella had ceased needing to hide her lineage from Harry and the Dursleys. The squib had clearly gone back to the between-worlds lifestyle she was more suited for. The lighting in the room was an odd mix of Muggle electricity and more traditional candlelight; a few of the photographs on the crowded mantel were moving; and Albus recognised the potted plant in the corner to be not violet, but rare flowering Moly. Several half-Kneazle kittens darted from under a corner table to bat at the hem of his hastily-transfigured robes, delighted with their late-night visitor.

Arabella herself was nearly as wide-awake – presumably due to Remus' frantic call. She shuffled forward in her fuzzy house slippers to greet the headmaster, just as Severus barrelled through the Floo behind him.

'Albus –' she began, but the headmaster cut her off before she could even finish her salutation.

'I do apologise for intruding so late, Arabella,' he said with a brief nod. 'And I thank you for your accommodation… but we need to move quickly.'

'Of – of course,' she agreed at once. She bustled toward the front door to the little house, opening it for them. Albus led the two wizards into the darkened street. Remus muttered a hurried thanks as she closed the door behind them.

'It's just up –'

'We know where the house is, wolf,' Severus spat. Albus cleared his throat pointedly, but the Potions Master ignored the hint.

'You did not have to come, Severus,' Remus retorted, showing a bit more ire than was his usual. 'Harry is not –'

'The situation is more complex than it appears,' Albus cut in before Severus could counter. 'How long ago did Harry have the dream, Remus?'

'I – not long,' the man replied, sounding somewhat confused. 'I came in almost immediately… and it can't have been more than thirty or forty minutes before I went to Arabella's.'

'And the Dursleys?' Albus pressed, quickening his pace as they neared Number Four.

'Asleep again, I think, when I departed,' Remus said. 'But… I did not inform them I was sending for you. If they wake, they might –'

'Let them come,' Severus growled.

Albus had reached the door. He unlocked it wordlessly, making for the stairs in silence. He forced down the unpleasant rise of memories as he located Harry's tiny bedroom and pushed open the door.

Harry was awake, staring at the ceiling and clutching a half-full glass of water in his hands. He looked drawn and slightly sweaty, as he so often had after nightmares at the castle. His eyes flew at once to the threshold of the room as Albus and the others arrived, and he upended the water in surprise.

Albus vanished the spill with a sweep of his hand.

'Are you alright?' the headmaster asked, hurrying for the bed.

'I – er, yeah, I'm okay,' Harry said slowly, his eyes tracking Remus and Severus as they came into the room as well. 'Sorry, I didn't expect… you didn't have to come,' he said, sounding a bit self-conscious. 'I _told_ Remus not to bother you…'

'My dear child,' Albus assured him. 'I will always wish to be told immediately if you are ill or injured, or indeed otherwise distressed. I could not care less for the lateness of the hour. Surely, you have realised this by now.'

He smiled at Harry's grimace. 'Having those who worry for us is not a detriment, Harry.' He laid a hand on the boy's forehead, and frowned at the heat.

Harry's face went red as he shrugged out from under Albus' examination. 'I'll be fine in a few hours,' he insisted. 'It was only a nightmare, after all.'

Severus gave a disbelieving scoff. Albus shot him a sharp look, but Harry had already heard.

'It _was_ only a nightmare, wasn't it?' he stressed, staring Albus down.

The headmaster searched the green gaze… deliberating. If he told Harry what he suspected, it would most certainly distress him further… yet he could not bring himself to lie. And concealing this, he knew, would help neither Harry nor any of them, in the long term. Nor was Albus optimistic that this would be the last such dream Harry would suffer.

'I am not certain,' he admitted at last. 'It is possible it was merely a dream… but it is also possible that this was more.'

Harry's already ashen face paled further, and Albus wondered whether he had made the right decision. 'You think it was real,' the boy accused in a whisper.

Albus did not answer. 'What do you think, Harry?' he asked instead.

Harry frowned. 'I… I don't know,' he mumbled. 'It didn't _feel_ like just a dream… and these ones never really have been, have they?' he mused, breaking eye contact with the headmaster and gazing toward the darkened window instead. 'I mean; the forest was real, when I was dreaming about it two years ago. And I wasn't _with_ Ginny in the Chamber… but that might have been real too, mightn't it? She _was_ being possessed… and the Chamber looked just the same when I got there months later.'

Albus gave Severus a sideways glance. _He_ had never heard the details of that particular vision before; or indeed of its existence, before tonight… But the Potions Master, though he was watching Harry with an intense, fathomless expression, did not seem surprised by the recollection.

'So I suppose… maybe…. This could be like that?' Harry finished. He looked back at Albus as he completed the rationalisation, and the headmaster nodded grimly.

'I think it is possible,' he conceded. 'Perhaps even probable.'

Harry's eyes were wide; fearful. Albus swept his fringe aside with a gentle hand. The lightning bolt scar was prominent against the white skin: angry and red. Albus traced its outline lightly with the tip of a finger, as he had traced the snake on Severus' forearm. Harry stiffened visibly.

'It is still paining you?' Albus asked, withdrawing the hand.

Harry shrugged. 'Not like it was,' he said. 'It's more just irritated, now. When I first woke up though, it was burning… I thought it would cleave right open.'

'Albus…'

The voice was Severus', and Albus knew their thoughts would align. But he did not want to discuss this in front of Harry, just yet. Not until he could think through all the implications… not until he had a scheme to manage them.

He turned to face the Potions Master, whose expression was dark and set as their eyes met. Beside Severus, Remus was watching both men in confusion.

'Do you have a potion for either pain or fever on you, Severus?' Albus asked before the man could go on.

'It will be gone by morning,' Harry grumbled stubbornly. 'It was the last –'

'I would prefer not to wait,' the headmaster insisted.

Severus rolled his eyes. 'I am supposed to be on _holiday_ from my interactions with the brat,' he said nastily, ignoring Harry's scowl. 'As such, I have allowed myself a break from carrying a trove of remedies on my person every day, Albus.'

'You _are_ supposed to be a Potions professor,' Harry shot back mulishly. 'I reckon having potions with you is like your –'

'You must be _very_ feverish, Potter,' Severus snarled, 'If you are delusional enough to believe finishing that sentence would be remotely wise…'

'That is –'

'I'll _not_ HAVE IT!'

Albus' remonstration was interrupted, as Harry's door banged open once again. All four wizards turned to see Vernon Dursley framed in the entrance, his thin wife in her nightcap only just visible behind his girth. Vernon's face changed from scarlet to white and then to a furious beetroot purple faster than Albus could even draw his wand.

'MORE OF THEM IN MY HOUSE?!' the man bellowed, lumbering into the room and shaking his fist at his nephew. ' _MORE_ OF THIS UNNATURAL –'

'Mr Dursley, I suggest you calm –'

'I WILL NOT CALM DOWN!' Vernon bellowed, rounding on Remus. Behind him, Petunia whimpered. 'I'LL _NOT_ HAVE IT! That boy and _his_ nonsense is bad enough… _you_ lot can GET OUT!'

'Our _lot_ will do as we please,' Severus said silkily, stepping around Remus to face the irate man.

Vernon looked in danger of a stroke as he glared at Severus. ' _You_ ,' he seethed, pointing a meaty finger at the professor's chest. 'YOU! You're worse than the rest! CURSING my family! I _remember_ , you twisted –'

' _Silencio_!' Severus said lazily, flicking his wand at Vernon Dursley. Petunia shrieked from behind him, darting from the room… undoubtedly toward her own son's sleeping form, if indeed his father's shouting had not awoken him.

'Enough, the both of you,' Albus insisted, finally removing the restraining hand he had been keeping on Harry's chest and sweeping forward to stand between the glaring men.

'You cursed them?' Harry accused, staring at Snape through narrowed eyes. 'Why? When were you even _here_?'

Severus whirled, but his expression was blank. 'I have no idea what he is talking about, Potter,' he lied smoothly. 'The Muggle is a ranting lunatic.'

Vernon's mouth continued to work silently, but he did not dare to cross Albus' physical barrier. Severus, looking supremely indifferent, turned toward the window. Remus too was frowning at his former colleague, but Albus kept his own focus on the man in question.

'I have personally seen to it that your family suffers from no curse, Mr Dursley,' he reminded Vernon. 'As we spoke of on my visit prior to Harry's arrival this summer. And I shall continue to do so. Now, if you can control your temper, I will remove the Silencing Charm.'

He waited until the man gave a curt nod, then brushed his own hand through the air, lifting Severus' spell. Vernon took a deep breath, grinding his teeth in an apparent attempt to keep from shouting again. It looked like hard work.

'Why are you here?' he demanded gruffly at last, though at a far more appropriate volume. 'You told us you'd keep away, while the boy was here… we let your minion –' he nodded at Remus – 'Into the house like you asked. Nobody's gone near the boy… we won't even let Dudley. Why've _you_ come round?'

Albus smiled politely, keeping his own anger in check. 'Because Remus sent word that Harry had fallen quite ill,' he answered courteously. 'I was concerned. As I am sure you would worry for Dudley's safety, should you ever receive similar information in the middle of the night, when he is away from home and not under your care.'

Vernon's face heated again. 'Don't you threaten my son!' he growled, though he did not raise his voice. 'Dudley is –'

'In no danger,' Albus assured him. 'That is not what I meant, in the slightest.'

Vernon's eyes were still distrustful. He darted a glare at his nephew instead. 'The boy's fine, I see,' he ground out. 'Cleaned up the mess on the floor and all. So you lot can leave.'

'Indeed, we shall,' Albus agreed. 'But, I think, I will be taking Harry with me tonight.'

'You will?' both Harry and Vernon asked in unison.

Albus had not been certain himself, until Vernon's untimely arrival. But the circumstances of tonight had changed things. And, though Harry had only been in his relations' company five days, Petunia and Dudley _had_ been present in the home far more than they had been the previous summer… Albus had seen to that. He could feel Lily's protection in Harry's magic. He was sure he could remove him safely.

The headmaster addressed his answer to Harry. 'I shall, yes,' he confirmed. 'We have things we must discuss, and I wish to keep an eye on you to ensure you are fully recovered. I doubt,' he added, giving Vernon Dursley a much colder stare, 'I can count that you would be properly cared for here.'

Vernon made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, but did not comment.

'You may say your goodbyes,' Albus prompted. 'I shall be in touch about next summer when the time draws closer.'

The man gave a brusque nod. 'Bye, then,' he forced out to his nephew. And he walked from the room without another word, slamming the door behind him hard enough to send a few scrolls of parchment toppling from Harry's desk.

'You're sure?' Harry inquired again, when his uncle had left the room. 'I know it was supposed to have been a week…'

'I am positive, Harry,' Albus insisted, already pulling back his bedcovers. 'Remus, would you gather his things? Severus – the travelling cloak…'

Severus tossed the cloak from the wardrobe, and Albus caught it deftly. He began helping Harry to his feet and into it, while Remus directed Harry's belongings into his rucksack and Severus paced, glowering at the scene in agitated silence.

'You are alright to walk?' Albus asked as he swept his wand to remake the bed. 'I have placed anti-apparition wards on the house, so we will need to be in the street before we might travel more quickly.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I'm _fine_ ,' he said. 'Let's just go, before Uncle Vernon comes back.'

Albus nodded and Remus stepped forward, guiding Harry from the little bedroom by the shoulder. Albus made to follow, but Severus' hand on his shoulder drew him to a halt.

'Albus,' the Potions Master whispered urgently. 'You do realise what this means? If Potter is seeing the Dark Lord; if there is some connection…'

'I am aware, Severus,' the headmaster said, his voice low so that Harry would not hear from the stairs. 'We will discuss it further… at Hogwarts.'

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Part II, Chapter 43**

 **mwinter1** : Thanks for your review! Glad you enjoyed the ending, and I hope you'll like Part III!

 **blimey2310** : Thanks for your review! Very glad you shared your thoughts on the ending and that you're enjoying the writing and the story :). Haha, and I'm glad you're liking Severus even though you haven't always… it's funny, one of my best friend – who often acts as my sounding board and unofficial Beta when I need one – is completely anti-Snape and was _not_ on board for his inclusion as a POV character in my universe… and now she roots for him. I love it.

Glad you enjoyed the Bill/Albus/Gellert bit… it sets up what will be a _huge_ arc for Grindelwald next book. I'm actually a bit nervous about it, as of course now with Fantastic Beasts kicking off a five-film epic, my own interpretations of Gellert may prove completely off the mark… but hopefully readers will enjoy it either way. I was pleasantly surprised to find the first film, so far, hasn't altered my own scheme.

Pettigrew… ah, I _so_ wish I could have had him captured… really, I do. Lizzie (my friend/Beta) was just as irritated, and tried very hard to talk me round… but in the end even though I would have loved to do it, for story purposes I could not. She has made me promise he won't make it to Book Eight… and I can all but guarantee it is a promise I will keep. So I hope that is some consolation.

Thanks again for your review, and best wishes to you and yours as well!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for reviewing! Haha, the last line… yes, definitely a set up for much darker things to come. I hope you do enjoy Part III – the action, I can promise, kicks off from the very beginning.

 **Leonore** : Thank you for your review! Very happy you enjoyed the ending so much. And you are correct: in many ways, Part II was about the end to Harry's childhood… and precisely what that sort of in-between age means for him, as well as for Albus, Minerva, Remus, Sirius and Severus. Harry is far from 'adult'… but he is not the shy, neglected eleven-year-old he was at the start of our story. Some of those implications are practical: his body is stronger, his magic is stronger, his thoughts are (slowly) growing less black-and-white. Harry realises it to some extent… the Time-Turner situation with Hermione probably being the most obvious example. And then, of course, there is the bit that Harry _doesn't_ know: the Prophecy. Albus and Severus touch on it for just a few moments here, but it is in the back of the headmaster's mind constantly. He knows Harry better here than he does in canon… and yet that dichotomy of caring for him, loving him, and yet knowing he must save the wizarding world is only stronger as a result. For me, the most significant line on this in the final chapter is when Albus muses that soon he will no longer be able to carry Harry at all. It is a practical observation, of course… but it is also a metaphorical one. Which, to me, makes it heart-breaking for Albus.

Snape. This bit, as you may have guessed already from the summary to Part III, sets up Severus' greatest dilemma going into the next year. He is terrified of returning to Voldemort… and yet he knows he must. And he will not back down from it, no matter what. As to Sirius, yes… as I mentioned to another reader above, I too am sad that I could not give Sirius his due here. But the resolution of his arc with vengeance v. justice, responsibility and finding what is important in his life was always the story I set out to tell for him in this book, and I think (or I hope, at least), that he concluded that the way he should have. Remus' arc with him will continue in the next book, and is another aspect I am excited to delve into. As to your query, however, I can definitely promise the answer is No. It is definitely not my intention to put them together as anything but friends. You are correct on Grindelwald – he plays a major role in the next book. And that final line, of course, will feature heavily in Albus/Gellert/Bill scenes in future.

Very glad you liked the ending, and enjoy Part III!

 **Undeniably Uzumaki** : Thank you for reviewing! I really appreciate your support and am glad you are enjoying the writing and the stories. I'm also glad for your comments and appreciate your point of precaution, so thank you for sharing that. I've talked a few times in the review-response section about my intentions for the basis of this story and the arc of subtle, gradual change I am plotting through the planned eight-part series. But I think you can expect that on that 'vector', the differences in relationships and the development of the characters will alter continually more of the tale as we move forward, which means Part III will differ the most from canon – although I would still call it a canon-based series. My intention is to create a story that _could_ have conceivably been canon, if Albus truly had taken Harry in at the start of Chamber of Secrets as he does here. So I don't plan to alter my primary characterisations… though that does not, as I think we've already seen, mean that the characters themselves won't have organic growth based upon events and relationship development that occurs here but does not occur in canon. I hope that makes some sense… but perhaps it is something that has to be read in the story to fully convey. Most crucially, I suppose, I want to make the journey organic for the reader, rather than an abrupt jump into unrealistic waters. I too had read hundreds (or more) Fanfics in the Potter universe before I decided to write my own… and my scruples with many of them were the reason I started this series to begin with, so I hope I will be able to avoid the things I disliked in other stories.

Fourth year… yes, it is a big year for change. It is in canon, and it will be even more so in the COH series. I don't want to give too much away, but I hope you will like where we go with it. Harry's journey from child to adolescent and ultimately to adult; from the Boy Who Lived to the Chosen One, is obviously a central tenant of this series, and the relationship between Harry and Albus and how that affects this journey is the central story of the books. Third year, particularly the end of the year, sees Harry truly leave childhood in most respects… and enter the netherworld where adolescence usually dwells, with the looming and ever-growing knowledge, for Albus, that he cannot 'preserve' innocence for Harry much longer, as he grows closer to the adult he must quickly become and the threat of Voldemort's resurgence becomes more and more tangible. The 'end' to his childhood was an important thing I wanted to convey in this final chapter to Part II… both the practical (like the fact that his body and magic are stronger) and the more metaphorical (like Albus' comment that he will not be able to carry him much longer; Hermione and Harry's realisations in the dormitory). They are all growing up… and growing up is not nearly as comfortable or simplistic an experience as childhood.

I won't give an answer on Occlumency, just yet. There's an arc with this particular magic that I don't want to spoil… but I think, on the whole, you'll enjoy it. Certainly let me know your thoughts as the story continues!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Hope you liked the ending and glad to hear you're pumped for the next book! And yes, we will _definitely_ see some death… interesting that you think it might be Cedric… perhaps, perhaps not. You'll have to see how that unfolds ;). As to whether Snape will ever change… ah, well, in some ways, I suppose he has. In others… no, probably not, haha. Enjoy Part III!

 **Review Responses, Part III, Chapter 1**

 **SB- Potterhead Budgie Lover** : Thanks for reviewing! Really appreciate your comment, and glad you liked the intro chapter. Hope you continue to enjoy the story!

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for reviewing! Good to see you back, and I hope you liked the remainder of Part II. Voldemort… yes, he'll be our darkest POV character yet. Delving into his mind was something I could not wait to begin… and I have been sitting on this chapter for a while as a result. I hope you'll like where it goes. As to how much of the pre-resurrection storyline we'll see… well, I shan't give all the details here, but I can promise it will be epic. And we will definitely see Barty Crouch Jnr soon. I do think there will be more deviation in the next book – after all, my intention is that 'vector' arc, so theoretically every book will have more and more changes as relationships develop… but we will be following a number of canon events too. I hope the storyline(s) I have planned will be exciting for readers. I will tell you, they span between several timelines in addition to several POV characters. I hope you'll enjoy the continuation!

 **ItsMagical** : Thank you for your review! Very happy you're loving the stories, and I hope I can keep the updates quick for you. :) I'm glad you like the format and I hope you'll continue to enjoy Part III as we move forward!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! I hope that is a good 'wow' haha… lace up your boots, it's going to be a long and perilous road!

 **Belial666** : Thank you for reviewing! Hmm… will what Harry be seeing… a difficult query. The reader, most certainly, will. There will be several dark and dangerous magics explored in Part III, but not everything that comes from Voldemort's POV will also be something to which Harry is privy via dream. I hope you enjoy it!

 **Moriahhh** : Thanks for your review! Very happy to hear you are enjoying the stories and thank you for your compliment! I hope you'll like the continuation of Part III!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thanks for reviewing! It's very good to have you back :). I'm very glad you liked the last few chapters of Part II, as well as the prologue to Part III. And never feel bad for leaving lots of comments – I always love it! And, incidentally, I'll forewarn that this is going to be a long reply.

I'm glad you still managed to be surprised, even where results were still canon-ish. Sometimes, I feel like writing this story is a bit like prophecy/fate is described… some things are destined to happen no matter what we do; some things seem destined and yet will not occur; and some things, we can change. I hope you'll like how Part III unfolds…

Tonks! Love her, couldn't wait to use her again. She'll pop round a bit in the next book too, even though we aren't at full 'war' yet. Ah, but Fudge _is_ bumbling, isn't he? Sometimes it is harmless… other times, wilful blindness does more damage than outright antagonism. I think Albus certainly recognises this danger, and is greatly displeased by the Minister… those tensions will only grow as we move forward toward Voldemort's rebirth. Interesting that you should ask how he got to be Minister for Magic… and you should definitely keep that thought in mind, because it will be explored later this book.

Poor Remus. A massive oversight, which proved near-fatal… and all because he wanted to settle his stomach and then Harry gets kidnapped and he and Severus run off and… well, as Albus says, the consequences of our actions are often far more complex than we could predict. Glad you liked the explanation for the willow… to be, it just seemed like it made the most sense.

Harry's Patronus. _Excellent_ question! Well, in canon of course, this is the first time he's able to produce one… and he does it on his second go-round, when he and Hermione travel back in time (although there's a bit of an open query as to whether he perhaps managed it in the match against Ravenclaw as well). In _Child of Hogwarts_ , he has already managed to produce a Patronus with Remus and at the Quidditch match, so we know he can do the spell. He has not, however, ever been tested with true Dementors before this point (let alone 100+)… and of course he's working at a bit of a deficit with the night they've already had. I deliberately did not detail what it was that Harry found inside him that allowed him to summon the Patronus for two reasons: 1) we already had a lot of deep conversation in this chapter, and I elected to take this portion out for flow, and 2) on rethinking the story map I decided there was a better place for it later in Part III. I do promise, however, that we will get a fuller explanation later this summer.

On that note, Albus is all about the deep conversations in the last chapter. His talk with Harry is perhaps my favourite… because you're right, it is very parental. He is comforting, and he teaches Harry important lessons… but he does not shy away from the emotional pain he knows Harry is in, and he does not lie. His talks with both Remus and Snape are similarly parental, and soft at times… and I love to see that side of Albus. We'll definitely see the cottage (which, incidentally, I suspect you will recognise), and Sirius and Remus will still be POV characters even though they are no longer at Hogwarts, so we'll also see what they're up to (both before and at the planned visit). As for Harry… yes, the moment of reckoning on Albus/Minerva is definitely approaching.

Okay, the prologue. First off, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Voldemort's mind is quite an odd place to live as a writer… but I love it. It's so, _so_ dark and twisty. As for your query, it's a bit complex I realise, and I actually originally wrote out the explanation more precisely, but then I chose ultimately not to include it because I felt it would not be 'true' to Voldemort's character, as he is far too confident in his own abilities to dwell on the magical theory behind it. And, of course, he would never bother to explain to Wormtail. What occurred, essentially, is that Voldemort discovered in performing Legilimency on Bertha Jorkins that she had been the victim of a Memory Charm: a powerful memory charm, which was cast so strongly that the magician actually damaged her memory permanently in the process (this is why he describes her thoughts as 'stale' and 'unnatural'). From canon, we actually know the identity of the person who charmed her, though Voldemort does not figure this out until he breaks the block. The charm was cast by Barty Crouch Snr, after Bertha inadvertently discovers that Barty Crouch Jnr is alive and living at his father's home. She is the only person, aside from the Crouchs themselves and of course Winky the Elf, to have realised this fact… until Voldemort manages to unearth it from her mind. As to what he did with Peter – he took possession of him. Not permanently (as he describes, possessing Wormtail permanently is not a viable option), but for the purposes of breaking the Charm upon Bertha's mind and torturing the information he needs from her. I did not give the details of precisely how he does this… partly because I wanted to explore the scheme he forms based on the information later, and partly because I felt the description of her ruined body was graphic enough for a prologue… but he needs to inhabit Pettigrew to do this, because Voldemort in his current state is capable of only limited magic, without the use of a body and a wand. It is implied that it may not have worked at all, but Pettigrew has Voldemort's own wand (the yew and phoenix wand) with him; and, as we know from both Ollivander and from Albus' description in 'The Phoenix', a wand's core and its wizard's magical core are closely tied. I hope that helps, a bit, in understanding that portion of the chapter.

I hope you enjoy Chapter 2 and that you have a great week as well!

 **Undeniably Uzumaki** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad to hear you liked the prologue. Things are definitely about to get much darker, and much more complex. I talked a fair bit about your point in my comments to your last review (above), but I'll be following the 'vector' premise I have planned for this eight-part series, which means there will be a mix of pretty significant change, some plot points from the original timeline, alternative POVs and new material. I am hopeful it will work well, but definitely look forward to comments and feedback as the story unfolds. Enjoy the continuation!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks again for your review! And yes, they absolutely are. We get into the action quite early this book… I hope you like the continuation!


	3. Mind, Body and Soul

**A/N:** Thank you again to those who reviewed! Responses are at the conclusion of the chapter, after the final break. My responses this time were more lengthy than usual as a lot of you asked really great questions and/or brought up excellent points. I worked very hard to get this out before I went back to work on Monday… but, obviously, it took a few days longer than anticipated. Still… less than a week (and a SUPER late night posting), so that's not too bad!

For those that need a more complete refresher on the scene where Snape legilimised Harry following his dream about Ginny in the chamber, you can find it in Part I, Chapter 21, 'The Drowned Diary'. The end of Chapter 20, 'Yuletide', contains the dream itself. Incidentally, Albus' fairly lengthy explanation on Occlumency can be found in Part I, Chapter 12, 'How to Bewitch the Mind'. That, I will not recap.

One final warning – the conclusion of this chapter grows quite dark. I would remind all readers that JKR has always refused to discuss how it was this particular act came to pass… and in my world, there is good reason for that.

With that, I hope you all enjoy 'Mind, Body and Soul.'

 **Please** **read and review**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER THREE

 **Mind, Body and Soul**

They apparated as soon as they had crossed the property line, Albus taking the boy side-along. The summery weather had dissolved into vicious winds and a threatening storm, drowning whatever early dawn might have been near to breaking as they approached the entrance to the Hogwarts grounds.

Severus and Lupin trailed behind the pair as the headmaster guided the child through the high gates and into the grounds, his head bent low; no doubt offering words of comfort that Severus could not hear. Potter had not been sick again, even on the apparition, but Severus could tell the headmaster's hand was playing more and more of a role in keeping him upright as they walked. Albus kept the pace as quick as he could, and the Potions Master could see the tip of his wand protruding from the sleeve of his robes. The lack of the headmaster's usual serenity heightened his own tension more than even the ominous events of the evening.

He would have preferred to walk in silence, stewing in his own thoughts. But the wolf, predictably, had other intentions.

'What were you doing in Albus' office so late, Severus?' he asked in a low voice as they trailed the others.

Severus snarled under his breath. 'If it had been _your_ business to know, Lupin, I'm sure the headmaster would have summoned you.'

The wolf did not rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped closer to Severus' shoulder. 'I heard the last portion of your conversation,' he pressed, even more softly. 'I know it was the Dark Mark you were discus–'

'If you expect I have _any_ intention of validating your eavesdropping with further information, Lupin,' Severus hissed angrily, 'Then you will be lucky if I do not substitute your Wolfsbane for poison next month.'

It was an unfair accusation and he knew it, but he could not bear to be wrongfooted yet again this night.

'Severus.'

Lupin pulled him to a halt with a sharp tug on the sleeve of his cloak, his hand closing – perhaps accidentally, perhaps deliberately – over the place where the Mark still prickled. Severus yanked his arm back with a more vehement snarl. He darted a glance toward Albus… but the headmaster was too busy fawning over the boy to notice that his companions lagged on the hillside.

Lupin's eyes were sympathetic as they scrutinised his face. It only made Severus angrier.

'This is not the last war, Severus,' he said seriously. 'You do not have to face this alone, if you do not want to. There are those who understand the consequences… those who will listen, if you need it. _I_ will listen. Sirius –'

Severus gave a growl. 'If you think I would even _consider_ that mutt's input –'

'Sirius knows the cost of war and betrayal better than anyone, Severus,' Lupin said, still maddeningly calm. 'Whatever rivalry we might have had in childhood… we are adults, now.'

Severus gave a disbelieving scoff, but Lupin ignored him.

'And we are in this fight together,' he continued. 'We did not know of your role the last time around; not until the war was over, at least. But now, things _are_ different, Severus; and I can help. We understand –'

'You understand _nothing_ ,' Severus disagreed. 'And I do not need a friend, Lupin.'

He turned away from the compassion, continuing his stride up the hillside after the headmaster's shadow… ignoring the anxious eyes he could feel on his back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It took quite a while to reach the headmaster's study with Potter's fading strength and their communal exhaustion. Albus helped the boy straight up the stairs and into bed, and Severus and Lupin followed.

Severus had not entered the boy's bedchamber since the summer he had first come to the castle. He noticed there were quite a few more personal possessions on the chest of drawers and desk, where some House-elf or Minerva had arranged his textbooks and an array of parchment and quills. Gryffindor hangings adorned the walls, as if anyone needed reminding what House had claimed the brat. Potter's overly extravagant broomstick was set against a high wardrobe in the corner, his scarf draped over the back of the armchair. The scene made a stark contrast to the barren Muggle bedroom they had just left in Surrey.

The headmaster brightened the candles on the nightstand, and Severus saw that Lily's beautiful face was smiling at him out of a golden-framed photograph; a long, angelic dress skimming the curves of her body; her dark red hair pinned back; her emerald eyes dancing with love and laughter as she held her hands out before her, beckoning…

And then James Potter swept into the scene, looping her waist as her arms closed around his neck… whisking her away just as he had in life; her smile and her dancing eyes only for him.

Albus stepped into the line of sight, bending over the younger Potter's bed to adjust the blankets. His anxious eyes were only for the Boy-Who-Lived; just as Lily's were only for James.

'Remus – could you retrieve the necessary from the cupboard off my chamber, please?'

'I'm just going to sleep, anyway,' Potter mumbled. 'I don't need –'

'Take them, Harry,' Albus insisted. 'If only to appease me.'

He brushed a hand over the boy's head again, fuelling the bile in Severus' stomach. The cossetting was driving him mad.

'Do you not think, headmaster,' he said pointedly. 'That we ought to get a better idea of what it was the boy _saw_ , before we dose him up for rest?'

'I've told Remus everything I knew about it,' Potter insisted, his voice a bit stronger. 'Everything I could remember. I don't know what else –'

'There are _other_ ways to retrieve a memory, Potter,' Severus interrupted him. 'Undoubtedly, you must recall; we have done so before…'

Potter's face lost even more colour, but his gaze was furious. Albus gave Severus a piercing look.

'There is no need for further discussion tonight,' he said firmly. 'There is nothing we can alter between now and the morning, and I would prefer that Harry sleep.'

Severus ground his teeth, but the wolf re-entered before he could retort, his arms laden with at least ten phials.

'I wasn't sure what would be –'

Severus sneered impatiently and ripped the lot from Lupin's hands. He juggled for a moment with the potions, deftly selecting the correct three and passing the doses to Albus. The boy took them without further fuss, drifting off in seconds after the Dreamless Sleep. The headmaster nodded them all from the room and led the way back down the spiralling staircase.

He sighed as they reached the sitting area again. The pale grey light through the windows made him look older than Severus thought was usual. Like everything else this strange night, the observation both disquieted and angered him.

'I am not sure I shall be able to regain sleep,' the headmaster admitted softly. 'But we ought to try. We can discuss the events of tonight more thoroughly on the morrow… or later in the morning, perhaps, would be a more accurate assessment. Remus, would you prefer to take a bed upstairs or return to your quarters for the night?'

'Return, I suppose,' the man decided. 'I left most of my things there, in any case.'

He gave Albus and Severus a curious look, but did not press the quiet dismissal. He bade them both a good evening and swept for the door. Severus shot a privacy charm at the closed wood before he rounded on the headmaster himself.

'The wolf overheard us,' he complained at once. 'He has been asking questions…'

Albus fixed him with a pointed look over his half-moon spectacles. 'Remus is a member of the Order,' he reminded him. 'There will come a time, not long out, when he will need to know much of what we are discussing, Severus.'

'And yet you dismissed him tonight,' Severus countered.

Albus sat himself in his favoured wing-backed armchair without answering. He motioned for Severus to sit across.

'The boy's memory must be –' Severus began, but Albus shook his head.

'First, Severus, I wish to know the details of what occurred the last time Harry had one of these nightmares,' he said. 'I find it curious that in all this time, you never shared that particular incident.'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'Does it matter?' he dismissed – harsher than necessary, hiding his discomfort.

The headmaster's gaze was perceptive, and not entirely approving. 'Yes,' he said simply.

Severus crossed his arms. 'Potter and his little _friends_ had got up to mischief as usual,' he griped. 'I suspected – _correctly_ I might add – that the brat had made use of the Polyjuice Potion to sneak into the Slytherin Common Room, engaged in their usual penchant for amateur detective work. I called him down to my office to question him about it.'

Albus, to his great consternation, looked neither surprised nor angry at the revelation that the Golden Trio had smashed his school rules to pieces once again. Severus supposed the brat had come clean in the many months since… or perhaps the headmaster had merely pieced together the irritating story for himself.

'Our… discussion,' Severus continued carefully, 'Was slightly heated. I impressed upon Potter the significant danger into which he placed himself and his friends with such foolhardy schemes. A lesson which he clearly took to heart, given how the year concluded,' he added spitefully. 'Potter grew upset, and then he became sick to his stomach. I inquired whether he was ill, and he told me he was merely suffering the effect of a nightmare from the previous evening. He stated he could not remember the details of the dream. I gave him a potion to calm his stomach.'

Albus was still giving him that characteristic, piercing stare… but Severus did not go on.

'You mentioned to Harry tonight that there were other ways to retrieve memories,' he noted. 'I found that an… interesting comment, Severus.'

'You know I performed Legilimency in Edinburgh,' Severus reminded him smoothly.

'Indeed I do,' the headmaster said, nodding. 'As I also know, Severus, that it was not the first time you performed such magic on Harry…'

Severus' eyes flashed. 'Whatever he told you…'

'Harry told me nothing,' Albus disagreed. 'Minerva, on the other hand, was quite upset. I understand that she learned about it on the night you were forced to do so in Edinburgh… and unless I am much mistaken, it was _this_ memory that you unearthed.'

He waited expectantly.

'Yes,' Severus admitted at last. 'Potter was concerned… I offered to assist him in accessing the memory. I _did_ forewarn him that the process was difficult, but –'

'And what were you able to see?' Albus interrupted.

Severus did not wish to dwell on that particular Boxing Day… nor the several memories of the boy's he had sifted through in order to reach Potter's dream which now pervaded his own sleep. But he, like Albus, recognised the ominous similarities.

'It was a vision of the Chamber,' he said. 'As Potter realised, of course, much later. It was incomplete, as dream memories so often are… but the layout of the place was just the same, and the Weasley girl was present, as was the diary that possessed the child.'

Albus stroked his beard, frowning. He turned his gaze at last from Severus', staring into the fire. 'What was Harry like, when you emerged from the task?' he queried softly to the flames.

 _This_ was the part Severus had not wished to relay. He hesitated… but, somehow, he thought Albus had probably guessed.

'He… was taken unwell again,' Severus confessed. 'I had to pull away abruptly – he was losing consciousness. It took several minutes to rouse him when we had finished; he was drained, perhaps slightly feverish.'

'Indeed,' Albus agreed, nodding at the hearth. 'And then?'

'I supplied him with a draught and took him back to Gryffindor Tower,' Severus finished. 'We did not speak of the dream again, and – to my knowledge – he did not have another before tonight's. Though you would know that better than I, headmaster.'

Albus nodded again, continuing to stroke at his beard. Severus let the silence sit a few moments, waiting for the headmaster to break it. Outside the high windows of the tower, the sky had opened at last. Sheets of rain pummelled the ancient panes and distant thunder rolled the hills.

'We need to see the memory,' Severus pressed, when Dumbledore did not speak. 'There could be information; more than what Potter consciously recollects. We could –'

'No,' Albus said firmly. His face was still facing the flames, but Severus glared his disbelief at the headmaster's profile.

'No?' Severus echoed in disbelief. 'Albus –'

'There is too great a risk,' Dumbledore insisted. 'I will not put him in harm's way, for a remote possibility of more than we already know.'

'Headmaster,' Severus implored, 'I pushed him too soon, perhaps, the last time… but if we were to retrieve the memory in the morning…'

'No,' Albus repeated. He turned at last from the hearth, meeting Severus' eyes again. 'Harry's reaction, I fear, would likely have been the same regardless of how long you waited to Legilimise him. And dream memories – as you know, Severus – are limited by the confines of the dream itself. Even subconsciously, it is doubtful that Harry has much more information to give.'

The Potions Master was not placated. Here again, the headmaster insisted on protecting the boy's immediate wellbeing before all else… and at what cost to the future?

'We do not need Legilimency,' he pointed out. 'We could retrieve the memory and view it in the Pensieve…'

'No,' Albus repeated. 'I do not wish to disturb that portion of Harry's mind. We will leave it, Severus.'

Severus threw himself off the sofa in temper and began stalking the room. 'That makes no rational _sense_ , Albus!' he argued. 'You would deny us the chance for vital information… to forgo a risk that the brat may need another dose of Fever Reducer? It is absurd.'

'If all that this endeavour might place at stake were Harry's short-term comfort, I assure you I would set aside my scruples,' Albus said. He had not moved from his chair, but his voice was low and serious as he watched Severus' pacing. 'But I fear what it is that might be causing such dreams to begin with.'

Severus waved a hand impatiently. 'There is clearly a connection,' he agreed. 'I have never heard of such a thing before… but then, no other wizard has survived a Killing Curse. No doubt it has previously unknown effects. And it may prove dangerous in future… but a problem, headmaster, that may never _matter_ at all, if Potter's memories can provide a way to prevent the Dark Lord's rise.'

'They will not provide any such thing,' the headmaster murmured quietly. 'And the connection, Severus, is dangerous now. It grows like a parasite. Its hold increases as Voldemort gains strength, and as Harry's own magic increases in power. It will only intensify as Harry matures and his Magical Core becomes stronger; just as it will deepen with Voldemort's own rejuvenation.'

The musing sent chills down Severus' spine. He paused in his angry stride, facing the headmaster again. Dumbledore himself was not looking at him now. He pushed laboriously up from his armchair at last and swept toward the desk, crooning to the phoenix on its perch. Fawkes bent his great plumed head, allowing the headmaster to stroke him.

'What is it that you think occurred tonight, Albus?' Severus asked in a much lower voice. 'This… connection, which gave Potter some vision of the Dark Lord's activities?'

Albus murmured a spell before he answered, filling the phoenix's water dish. 'I think it less a vision than reality,' he said at last. 'I think, Severus, that Harry was seeing not Voldemort's activity, but through his eyes.'

Severus frowned. 'As in possession?' he queried, struggling to grasp the notion. 'Or some form of Legilimency? Impossible. Even were Potter capable of either magic, it would be inconceivable at such a distance, let alone without conscious effort and against the Dark Lord himself.'

'As you so rightly observed, these are unexplored waters of magic,' the headmaster said. 'And thus, the usual rules of navigation do not necessarily apply.'

Severus watched him minister to the phoenix, his brow furrowed. 'He is not _currently_ in the throes of either.'

'Actively? Perhaps not,' Albus concurred. 'But it is my belief that this particular connection between Harry and Voldemort is never truly closed. It would be more accurate to call it dormant, at times. I fear that provoking that connection deliberately – encouraging these visions or attempting to unearth them – could have terrible consequences for Harry; much more than several hours of ill health.'

Severus thought it through, frowning. Then a much more troubling thought occurred to him. 'Do you anticipate the connection might work in reverse?' he asked. 'That the Dark Lord, in turn, might be able to see through the boy's eyes?'

'It is entirely possible,' the headmaster admitted gravely. 'Although, at the moment, I doubt it. Voldemort has no body of his own. Though it is possible he may feel magically, he cannot feel physical weakness, as Harry can. I do not think it likely that he has discerned what Harry has been seeing. But we would be unwise to test the tenants of that connection. And, I suspect, things may become much more serious when Lord Voldemort returns.'

Severus was not satisfied, but he could sense a finality in Dumbledore's decision.

'The boy has already learned the foundations of Occlumency; it should not be a difficult leap to solidify defence against dangerous dreams,' Severus opined. 'But if you are correct, Albus… if the Dark Lord should discover that Harry Potter can enjoy his thoughts… if he should ever discover a way to reverse the connection, much more than mere basics will be required. An attack on the mind from the Dark Lord…'

Severus trailed off, but he did not need to finish. _He,_ as they both knew, had experienced such magic… and his own prodigious skill was barely enough to withstand it. Potter – the emotional Gryffindor who wore his heart on his sleeve; who let passion rule his actions more often than he did sense – would not stand a chance. Severus doubted whether he could even master Occlumency strong enough to fight it.

And yet he must, for all their sakes.

'Without question,' Albus agreed, drawing Severus from his thoughts. 'Harry is still quite young to learn that level of Mind Magic… but it is the best option, at this point.'

Severus nodded curly – glad that one problem, at least, had found reasonable solution tonight. 'Close the connection, if it troubles you so,' he summed up.

Albus sighed. 'Believe me, Severus,' he said wearily, as the phoenix took flight in a soft rush of scarlet and gold, 'It is all I can think about.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was odd, staying in these quarters he'd thought he was leaving behind. Though it had been less than a week since Remus had left with Harry for the Dursleys', it still felt rather like staying at his parents' home after he had entered adulthood. Familiar, comforting, but… somehow other.

The House-elves had made up the bed before he even stumbled back through the door, clearly anticipating the arrangements. It was a welcome surprise, as Remus was too thoroughly drained from the harrowing evening to feel up to much additional work. He managed to drag nightclothes out of the holdall he'd brought back from Privet Drive and collapsed onto the mattress without bothering with the blankets.

When he awoke midmorning, he made immediately for the headmaster's chambers. He found Albus bent over his grand desk, comparing what looked like the plans of a labyrinth and a pile of parchment Remus recognised as official forms from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He looked up as Remus entered, smiling in greeting. Remus frowned at the heavy circles under the headmaster's eyes.

'I take it you never managed a return to sleep, then?' he queried, taking the seat opposite the headmaster's desk.

Dumbledore smiled. 'Alas, no,' he admitted. 'Though it did give me additional time to prepare for my meeting at Beauxbatons, so I suppose that is something.' He gestured at the pile of parchment.

Remus inclined his head. 'I'd forgotten about the Tournament,' he mused aloud. 'You're sure you still want to move forward with it, headmaster? With everything else that seems to be brewing?'

The headmaster sighed. 'At times,' he confessed, 'It seems a foolish endeavour, given all the current circumstances. But then I remind myself that in times of struggle, we are much stronger together than apart. Our wizarding children live sheltered lives here… detached from most of the rest of the world. It is as important a part of their magical education as Transfiguration – to expose them to international bonds.'

'I suppose,' Remus acquiesced, though he was uncertain he truly agreed.

'In any case,' Albus went on, sweeping his arm across the desk to banish the scrolls. 'I take it that is not why you are here.'

'It isn't,' he confirmed. 'Harry…'

'Is still sleeping, at the moment,' the headmaster answered. 'Though he showed no signs of continued fever when I checked in on him an hour or so ago. He should be fine.'

Remus smiled a bit forlornly. 'That is good to hear,' he acknowledged. 'I take it you will speak to him about the vision?'

Albus inclined his head. 'I shall. I have already decided that Occlumency is the best way to prevent such night terrors in future. I will address it with him when he wakes.'

Remus nodded. 'And the contents of the dream, Albus?' he pressed. 'What does this mean?'

'I suspect it means that Peter Pettigrew has found his master,' Albus said heavily. 'Not an unexpected turn of events, of course, but it does accelerate things.'

Remus' hands clenched spastically, although he had expected the answer. He looked to the windows, where the storm still raged against the glass. Dumbledore did not break the silence.

'Sirius,' he said at last.

Dumbledore raised a curious eyebrow. 'Is still perfectly safe,' he assured him. 'Minerva saw him to Bathilda's several days ago. I dare say he is being thoroughly fattened up as we speak, if Batty's outraged Howler was anything by which to judge.'

Remus nodded. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'And I had meant to join him Sunday evening. But…'

'I have no objection to your going sooner,' the headmaster said. 'But I would like you to stay just one more night, if you would. I must step out for a meeting late this evening, and I would like you to remain for Harry.'

'Of course,' Remus consented. Dumbledore did not offer his reasons for the errand, and Remus – though curious – did not ask for them.

The headmaster nodded again, pushing back from his desk. 'Let us have some tea, then,' he said in a brighter tone. 'And speak of other things. I should like, once you have settled into the cottage, for you to accompany me to Alastor's…. He still needs a bit of convincing.'

Remus gave a true grin this time. 'You are certain it's wise to set him loose in a castle full of children?' he said, only half-teasing. 'I can't imagine Poppy will be overly pleased with the idea.'

Albus smiled as he pulled his wand, floating a spinning tea service to the table. 'He is one of the most capable wizards who could fill the position,' he pointed out. 'An Auror with prodigious wandwork and excellent, if hyper-sensitive, instincts. If we cannot have you, Remus, there are few better instructors on the eve of war. And Alastor can be… managed, even with his growing paranoia.'

Remus snorted in disbelief, but the headmaster merely poured the tea.

'In any case,' Albus opined, 'We could do with every set of vigilant eyes that might be spared, with such a year ahead of us.'

'Perfectly true, Remus agreed. 'As long as you remember that Mad-Eye's particular brand of vigilance might come with a price.'

Albus blew lightly on his tea. His left hand gripped the saucer, but his right, Remus noticed, was closed over his wand on the arm of the chair, stroking lightly at the intricate carvings.

'It is the great irony of our world, Remus,' the headmaster whispered back. 'All Magic comes at a cost.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was well past midday when Harry finally stirred. He came to groggily and with several failed attempts, as he always did when it had been a potion which put him to sleep. Though he could not recall precisely how he had arrived there, he knew before he opened his eyes that he was at Hogwarts once again. The familiar, comforting magic was all around him.

Opening eyes to the world and to consciousness, the cacophony of the previous night's events came back to Harry the moment he lifted his eyelids.

 _The dream… Albus' arrival… Coming home…_

He sat up at once, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. A musical note from his wardrobe caused him to turn, and he saw that Fawkes was once again watching him. He smiled in greeting. The phoenix blinked his doleful eyes, and vanished in a blaze of fire.

Harry hastened to dress, grateful that all his things had been moved back from Gryffindor Tower in the days he'd been away. It took him less than ten minutes to finish, and he hurried down the stairs to the study.

Albus, he was unsurprised to see, was waiting for him. He looked decidedly less rested than Harry felt, but he was smiling all the same as Harry tore into the room. The low sitting table was laid with fresh tea and an assortment of breakfast selections. Harry's stomach – so thoroughly emptied the previous night – gave an anticipatory rumble in appreciation.

'It is good to see you up,' the headmaster greeted him, gesturing to the sofa. 'I had begun to worry I had accidentally dosed you with Draught of Living Death.'

' _You_ were the one who insisted on Dreamless Sleep,' Harry complained, though he was grinning as he filled his teacup. 'I don't think it's fair to make it my fault that it knocked me out until lunchtime.'

'Hmm,' the headmaster agreed. He twinkled at him as he chose a crumpet for himself and began spreading liberal amounts of lemon curd over the porous surface. 'Perhaps not. How are you feeling this afternoon?'

'Perfect,' Harry assured him quite truthfully, piling some eggs onto his plate.

'That is good to hear,' Albus said with a nod. 'Because there are things we must discuss, once you have had something to eat.'

Harry's heart sank a little, though the headmaster's tone was still light. He knew there _were_ things they needed to talk about… and there were answers he wanted… but it had felt so refreshingly normal, taking breakfast in the headmaster's quarters and joking over tea.

He nodded once. 'Is Minerva here?'

'She is still away,' Albus confirmed. 'But she will be returning in just three days.'

'What's her family like?' Harry asked curiously. He knew Minerva had two brothers and that both were married with children of their own, but he had never met any of them before.

'They are… exuberant,' Dumbledore said at last, with a half-smile.

Harry grinned despite himself. 'Like the Weasleys?' he ventured.

Albus chuckled. 'Not quite at that level, no,' he admitted. 'But they are quite a cast of characters in their own right. Perhaps we shall take you to meet them, later in the summer or next.'

Harry tried to imagine meeting Minerva's relations. It was an odd thought; just as realising that Dumbledore had a brother had been odd two years ago, or imagining him growing up in Godric's Hollow was near to impossible even after they'd visited the place together. He knew Flitwick had a wife, several grown sons and grandchildren, and he knew – theoretically – that some of the other staff must have families of their own… but the professors were oddly solo entities, in Harry's world. Even Minerva, who he knew so well by now, Harry found difficult to visualise surrounded by others who had her dark hair or square spectacles. He was infinitely curious to meet them.

'Harry,' Dumbledore said, when at last Harry had eaten as much as he could and set his plate aside.

Harry looked up. He could tell from the headmaster's expression that the conversation was about to get a lot more sombre.

'I wish, this summer, to return to the study of Occlumency.'

Harry felt a bit guilty. 'I… I _do_ remember how to do it, sir,' he said. 'I usually make sure I do it at night, but… I suppose I got a bit forgetful, at my aunt and uncle's.'

Dumbledore's eyes were serious, but not unkind. 'It is not a crime to forget, Harry,' he reassured him. 'But some of these dreams – I am speaking particularly of the one you had last night and the one you relayed to Severus two Christmases ago – seem to be having a very serious effect on your wellbeing. I would be dishonest if I did not tell you that I am deeply concerned about it.'

Harry felt his face heat further. 'I'll work harder at it,' Harry vowed. 'I promise.'

But Albus was shaking his head. 'It is not a question of your working harder, Harry. You misunderstand me,' he said. He swept his wand over the table, banishing the remainder of the breakfast but leaving the tea. 'It is, I believe, going to be very difficult to stop these particular dreams with what we may term 'usual' or 'basic' Occlumency – the meditative state that you have been practising for nearly two years now.'

Harry frowned, puzzled. 'Why?'

Albus sat forward a little in his chair, setting his fingers under his chin. 'Tell me,' he queried instead. 'What is it that these dreams which affect you so badly all seem to have in common?'

Harry did not have to wrack his brain – it had been the only thing he could think about when he considered the dreams since the previous night.

'Voldemort,' he said at once. 'They're all about Voldemort. But not the _memories_ of Voldemort… those dreams don't make me ill. The ones that do are… the maybe current dreams, I guess. He was in that forest, when I was dreaming about it. He was _in_ Ginny inside the chamber. And then last night…'

Albus was nodding. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'That is my conclusion as well. Why you are having these dreams or why they, particularly, seem to be having such deleterious effects, I am not yet entirely certain… but I _am_ sure that it would be very unwise to allow them to continue.'

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion again. 'Why?' he asked. 'I mean – I don't _like_ feeling that way, obviously… but it's a bit useful, isn't it? If they _are_ real, then at least we know what Voldemort is –'

'No,' said Dumbledore, so emphatically that Harry stared.

His eyes softened a bit. 'Not at this cost, Harry. It is my suspicion that the dreams stem from a connection forged between yourself and Lord Voldemort at the time of his failed attempt to kill you… there have been signs before that such a thing may have occurred. Your scar, of course. Your ability to speak Parseltongue. If this is indeed the case, then there is every chance the connection might grow stronger as Voldemort regains power. Such a thing could prove very dangerous to you. And thus, we must endeavour to stop it.'

Harry felt vaguely ill again, just listening. He also felt dirty; tainted… not unlike the way he remembered feeling when he'd first learned Salazar Slytherin had been a Parselmouth.

'But you said, Albus,' he reminded him a bit dejectedly, 'That Occlumency was a really difficult magic. How am I supposed to stop the dreams… what if I can't do it?'

Dumbledore smiled softly. 'You are stronger than you were at eleven, Harry,' he said. 'It is true that Occlumency – like all Mind Magics – is a difficult study, but I do think you will be capable of the task. You will find that the work you have been doing with Professor Snape on wandless casting will help you, as will the ability to conjure your Patronus. Both require much more advanced acclimation to your Magical Core than your regular studies thus far… and that will be useful in Occlumency. Hogwarts herself should help as well. The school is imbued with ancient magic, and the added fortifications of more than a hundred protectors over her thousand years. She shields her occupants in her own right.'

Harry nodded, though he was still not all that confident. 'And… _you'll_ be teaching me, sir?' he clarified.

Albus' eyes twinkled knowingly. 'I shall,' he confirmed. 'In Occlumency, and in some other areas, I think.'

'More Defence?' Harry asked, a bit brighter. He had loved Remus' lessons, but with Remus gone…

But the headmaster shook his head. 'Not Defence precisely, no,' he disagreed. 'I think you will find Remus' replacement this coming term will be more than up to the job.'

'Who exactly –' Harry started, but the headmaster was shaking his head again, still smiling.

'I do not wish to spoil the surprise,' he said with a wink. 'You will meet him shortly, I expect. Perhaps after we return to Hogwarts.'

'Return?' Harry repeated, confused. 'Where are we going?'

Albus refilled their tea with a wave of his hand. 'Well, seeing as you are rather unexpectedly arrived, I _had_ made plans to visit a friend on the continent tomorrow. I have no intention of leaving you here on your own for the whole of the day, particularly as Minerva is away and you are just recovered from your episode last night. So I thought, perhaps, you would like to accompany me.'

Harry grinned. 'That sounds brilliant,' he said excitedly. 'I've never been outside Britain before. Actually, I'd never even been out of England before I came to Hogwarts… Where are we going?'

Dumbledore's smile widened as he lifted his tea. 'To the south of France,' he answered. 'My acquaintance is headmistress of another magical school there, and I have a need to pay her a call on some arrangements for next term. I think you will enjoy the scenery – it is quite a beautiful part of the country.'

'Yeah, alright,' Harry agreed at once. He was suddenly much happier as he sipped at his own cuppa. Not only would he have his first trip abroad, but he would be able to see another magical school… something which still, like the teachers having lives outside of Hogwarts, seemed quite an unfathomable oddity.

'But to return to our topic of discussion,' the headmaster said, shifting gears abruptly, 'Though we will not be focusing on Defence, there are two other areas I intend to explore with you this summer in addition to our work in Occlumency. The first is Ancient Runes, of which I think you already know the premise. The second is less a field of magical study, per say, and more… tutelage, I suppose, on how to hone a unique skill that you already possess. You have shown such ability for some time, and I think it is high time I helped you to advance it.'

Harry frowned. 'I haven't got any special skills,' he said. 'I mean, other than Parseltongue I guess,' he amended with a shudder. 'And Quidditch. But how –'

'Those are not your only skills,' the headmaster disagreed with a disapproving look. 'You are gifted in Defence, in protective magic, in wandless spellwork, in Charms… but this is a subtler art. And an innate talent – like wandless casting – which cannot be easily taught to one who is not born with the natural ability.'

Harry was still confused. Albus seemed to be expecting this. He smiled softly again.

'I am going to teach you, Harry, how to attune to Magic.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Many hours later, Albus made his way alone through the towering gates of Nurmengard. The storm that had pummelled the walls of the castle was conspicuously absent here, where a smattering of stars lit the overgrown path and not even a breeze rustled the stillness of the summer night. He had put off this journey, though he had known he must make it since the day term had ended. But now, in the echo of the previous night, he could delay no longer.

'You have left your delegate behind,' Gellert noted, before Albus could even shut the door.

He was crouched over an ancient looking tome at the little wooden desk, a singular candle burning low in an iron holder to his left. He was smirking as he raised his violet eyes to meet his arrival's, marking the page with a scrap of parchment and closing the book gently. Albus saw, as the candlelight caught the fluttering parchment, that the volume was written in Ancient Runes.

'I thought you would,' Grindelwald noted. 'A nice change of pace, I must admit… The boy is no halfwit, but I do miss our own interactions, Albus.'

'Undoubtedly,' the headmaster replied coolly. 'I gathered as much from your cryptic message, Gellert. I am sure you meant it for an invitation to call alone.'

Grindelwald's eyes flashed with mirth. 'I have no scruples in including the boy, Albus,' he disagreed. 'However… I thought it only polite to give you the chance to decline an audience. It is, after all, very delicate conversation.'

'Indeed,' Albus agreed. He made his way to his usual chair, but did not take the seat. Instead, he trailed his fingers along the high back, watching Gellert's face closely.

'A living being playing host to a Horcrux,' he recapped quietly. 'I have never heard of such a thing before… if it has, in fact, been successfully done. Wherever did you stumble upon such an idea, Gellert?'

Grindelwald had not risen from the little desk. He stroked the top of the book pensively with long-nailed fingers.

'Stumble upon it…' he repeated. 'I did not, in such a sense. I put the pieces together. As, I am sure, you must have done yourself… perhaps even before we embarked on this second shared quest. Perhaps, if you are honest with yourself, you guessed at the possibility as early as thirteen years ago, Albus.'

Albus' heart clenched, though he had known from the moment Bill Weasley spoke the message that this was Gellert's hypothesis.

'Mark him as his equal,' he repeated softly. 'That is what was foretold, you know. That is what Harry was to be to Tom Riddle. Though even I must confess I could not guess there would be such a literal application of the phrase. I am not certain of it, even now.'

Grindelwald smiled slightly. 'But you are,' he disagreed. 'You do not wish to recognise it, perhaps… but the fact that you did not bring Weasley with you tonight tells me you know it is true. There is far less danger in false rumours, after all, then terrible truths.'

Albus did not answer.

'And in any event, the signs are there,' Gellert went on. 'The Parseltongue, of course, being the most obvious. The curious Scar…'

But Albus was frowning now. 'That is a large leap to make, on such a pittance of similarity,' he said suspiciously. 'Harry's scar is a mark of the curse – a unique occurrence, it is true… but hardly a sign that a fragment of Tom's soul resides within him. Parseltongue is more concerning; but the Slytherin line is not the only to carry such a talent.'

'And yet, you told me yourself you believed the child was granted the gift by Riddle's hand,' Gellert pointed out. 'I, Albus, have rarely heard of such magical transference… and certainly not with an actual talent – a magic unlimited, shall we say. But even that is not the best evidence of this theory, Albus… surely you must know what prompted my deduction, for I suspect it is the same factor which confirmed yours.'

Albus frowned deeper, more unnerved than he cared for. But again, he did not answer.

'The dream,' Gellert answered for him. 'For that, Albus, can hardly be explained satisfactorily with anything else.'

'You could not possibly know about that,' Albus countered at once. 'Are you suggesting that you have _seen_ –'

Gellert gave a wheezy laugh. 'Hardly, Albus,' he said, shaking his head. 'Yet you were kind enough to gift me with a companion. A boy, no less, whose own sister was Riddle's victim a year ago. He is close-lipped, mind you, almost to a fault… but I have always been charming when I needed to be. And when I explained that the diary had been a Horcrux, he was only too willing to discuss what had happened to his poor, naïve little sister. People are always so protective of their siblings, are they not?'

Albus felt the heat of anger blaze through his passivity at once. He knew Gellert would feel it, but he did not care… the call of the wand in his pocket was nearly deafening…

'Do not dare,' he threatened. 'Do not _dare_ to go there, Grindelwald…'

Gellert held up a hand, palm out. 'Peace, Albus,' he said softy. 'I did not mean it for an insult.'

Albus took a deep breath, forcing himself back to calm. But his eyes were warier as he locked his gaze with his contemporary. 'You used Bill's sister,' he accused darkly. 'I should have guessed you would find some way to manipulate him…'

Gellert shook his head. 'I have done nothing of the sort,' he denied. 'I merely wanted more information on how the diary had been utilised… that it was the girl that served as victim was coincidence, but it gave me a convenient avenue of approach. He was interested, of course… he wished to know how Riddle had possessed her. In return – or, perhaps, in hope of an explanation – he shared what he knew of the events. Including the very curious dream that, apparently, his younger brother relayed to the family. Harry Potter's vision of the Chamber of Secrets, long before he could have stepped foot in the place.'

The headmaster broke the gaze at last. He paced the small, circular room instead, thinking. The room, he noted, was rather a paltry shadow of his own grand study… books and the few trinkets he had permitted lining roughly hewn wooden shelves – fuller, now, than they had been on his first arrival. Gellert allowed the silence, knowing Albus would eventually break it.

'It is… possible,' he said at last, 'That there is merit in the theory. There have been other dreams; more recent visions. They seem to indicate that Harry is witnessing Tom Riddle's activities, as they happen.'

'Hmm… almost a certainty, then,' Gellert mused, crossing his arms as he thought. 'And a danger, Albus. If Riddle should realise that the boy is a Horcrux…'

'I do not think he could make that leap,' Albus disagreed, turning at the barren heath. 'Lord Voldemort believes in his own superiority above all else. There is danger, of course, that he may one day come to realise that Harry is sharing his thoughts… a possibility, I think, that will grow in probability should he regain a proper body. I have already set in motion a plan to prevent it. But I doubt even Tom will connect the link with a portion of his own ravaged soul. He would not think it possible such a thing could occur, without his knowledge or consent.'

'Perhaps,' Gellert allowed, running a finger along his chin.

'Which begs the question,' Albus continued, resuming his stride as he voiced what had been plaguing him for days. 'Exactly how much of a Horcrux could Harry be, if he is one at all?'

Gellert looked sharply at him, his brow furrowed. 'Explain,' he demanded.

Albus, even in his high anxiety, felt a flare of satisfaction. He was far more comfortable giving the explanation than being the lesser in the conversation.

'There is, as you know, a specific and complex spell which creates the Horcrux,' he said. 'And even before the final act, the vessel must be prepared. A multistep process that requires a great deal of advanced, complicated Dark Magic.'

Gellert nodded slowly in agreement.

'If Voldemort _did_ create Harry a Horcrux that night in Godric's Hollow,' Albus went on. 'Then he certainly did so accidentally. Harry was not prepared to harbour the portion of soul, nor would the sealing spell have been completed. It is, or I would posture, an incomplete and therefore unstable conversion.'

'He pushed too far,' Grindelwald guessed, cottoning on. 'He had already created two… possibly more. His soul was desecrated beyond repair. The backfiring curse, I suppose, would have done it… and blasted a fragment from the remaining whole.'

'Precisely,' Albus agreed. He returned to his chair, gripping the back as he looked at Gellert. But the other wizard was frowning.

'I see where you are going with this, Albus,' he said, not unkindly. 'But it is a mistake. That it is accidental in nature will make no difference now.'

'We cannot know –'

'The one _true_ way to destroy a Horcrux,' Gellert interrupted, 'Is to destroy its container utterly. You know this. It is why using a living creature would seem so rash a choice. A human is far easier to put beyond the help of magic than any object.'

There was a ringing silence.

'I presume you would wish that I keep this conversation from your patsy?' Grindelwald inquired after several long moments.

Albus frowned at the epithet, but he nodded curtly. 'I wish this to reach no other ears,' he confirmed. 'Continue your work with Bill on the others. I shall deal with my… with Harry.'

'Such a curious child he must be,' Gellert said softly, 'To garner such affections from Albus Dumbledore… I would dearly love to meet him.'

Albus did not deign to respond to the entreaty.

'There is still time,' he said instead. 'Harry is young, and Lord Voldemort has not yet managed to return to strength. We focus on the other Horcruxes… and a solution may yet present itself for Harry. It could be many years before a pivotal moment arises.'

'Ever the optimist,' Grindelwald said, somewhat patronising. 'But you know, Albus, that good does not always triumph in our world.'

'And yet it triumphs enough,' Albus disagreed, 'That great men still choose to live for it.'

'Or die for it, my friend,' Grindelwald countered.

He stroked the cover of the ancient book again.

'Possibly my favourite in this collection,' he murmured, running his index finger over the title. 'And you did leave me many books, Albus, if little else, when you entrapped me in this fortress so many years ago. They were my constant companions, all this time. I would wager I know many by heart.'

Albus did not speak. He watched the wizard with a deliberately impassive face.

'This one, though,' Gellert said, nodding at the tome on the desk. 'This has always been my personal choice. Not for the story; though you know as well as I that it has fascinated and consumed me in equal measure. Not for its history; though this particular copy must be centuries old. No… I favour it, Albus, because it was yours.'

'All the books in this tower, Gellert, were mine,' Albus pointed out.

But it was a petty point, and he knew it.

Gellert's smirk widened. 'Yes,' he acknowledged. 'They were. Yet only this one, Albus, held your interest in such a unique and visceral way. Just as it held my own. Our story begins and ends with these pages…'

He caressed the book again, his eyes far away.

'I have asked myself so many times why it was you left it here…. Did you mean it as a mockery? To trap me forever with the lure I could never achieve? To taunt me into eternity with my failure? Did you do it for yourself? Were _you_ too tempted by the tale; too worried that you too would fall… and thus you banished it – as you banished me – to a far-flung fortress of solitude?'

Albus' heart was unsteady in its beat, but he would not let the discomfort reach his features.

'And what did you deduce, Gellert?' he asked drily. 'Why was it that I left it for you? Am I cruel, or am I selfish?'

As if vanished by a spell, the smirk evaporated from Grindelwald's face. His eyes were intense as they focused on the headmaster, and there was an unguarded honesty in them that this man rarely allowed to show.

'You are neither, Albus,' he returned quietly. 'It was my conclusion, in the end, that you left it as an offering… an olive branch, perhaps, that you believed we could never have face to face again. It was an act, my old friend, of kindness. And that is why I cherish it still.'

Still, Albus said nothing.

'Which is why I will give you one last piece of advice, though you do not wish to hear it,' Gellert continued, standing from the desk at last and shuffling forward so they were nearly eye-to-eye.

'You have a choice yet again, Albus. You may choose to save the boy… or you may choose the Greater Good… but you are a fool if you believe you may have both.'

He pressed _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ into Albus' hands, and bowed the headmaster out of the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'You return empty-handed,' the Dark Lord observed, as Pettigrew's sweaty form stumbled back through the entrance of the cave.

Wormtail shivered, dabbing at his brow with a shaking hand. 'I… I tried, my Lord. But there are none – none that I can find...'

'You disappoint me,' Lord Voldemort hissed. 'I wonder I can still feel disappointment in you, Wormtail… you so rarely offer anything but.'

Even in the dark confines of the cavern, he could see Pettigrew shudder. 'I… I _will_ find one, my Lord,' he vowed. 'I may need to go off the mountain in order to –'

'You will go nowhere, Wormtail, unless I command it,' he dismissed. 'Already it is a great risk to send you off through this forest alone… how can I be sure you will return to me? How can I be sure, if you do, that you will not return a disappointment yet again?'

'My Lord, I would never –'

'Milk Nagini,' he commanded, moving toward the motionless form of the woman instead and ignoring Wormtail's continued stammer.

She was alive, but only just. He had been, perhaps, a touch too ruthless with the attack… carried away with the reunion with his own precious wand. Now, even in this wisp of a form, he could feel her magic and her body both failing; succumbing to her devastating injuries. Wormtail's rudimentary statis spells and meagre healing could do little to sustain her. Their time, Lord Voldemort knew, was running short. And Wormtail's body would not do… he could not do what he must, possessing another.

He could not do it without his own body.

He could not go back to Britain without completing the task.

She could not die before he was ready.

' _I have a request of you, my sweet_ ,' he crooned to the snake, turning away from the pathetic witch upon the ground.

The snake, coiled around Pettigrew for her milking, hissed back at him in turn. Wormtail nearly dropped the precious phial.

'Do not spill a drop!' he threatened in English.

The cave rumbled with his wrath, bits of loose earth raining from the ceiling. Wormtail whimpered, but he kept the phial steady. Lord Voldemort reigned his temper with some difficulty.

'Time is of the essence, Wormtail,' he said icily. 'You must milk her, morning and night, until the base of the cauldron has two inches full.'

'Yes, my Lord,' Wormtail agreed hastily. The Dark Lord watched as he returned to the task, looking both revolted and terrified as he collected the venom from Nagini's fangs.

'If the woman dies before the potion is ready,' he warned, 'I will be more than displeased, Wormtail… I will need to punish your insolence.'

'I – she won't, my Lord,' Wormtail promised, his eyes wide and perspiration thick on his brow. 'I can… can keep her alive, enough, until then. I know I can.'

'You had best hope that is the case,' Voldemort said.

He turned away from the milking, floating toward the front of the cavern… watching the night fall over the trees. The forest was silent around them – as it so often was, where his shadow tread.

'Unicorns are old magical beings,' he mused aloud. 'And children of Light Magic. This portion of the forest is not known for their presence… it was always unlikely we would be able to secure one here…'

'As I said, my Lord, I can –'

'Silence,' the Dark Lord commanded.

Nagini hissed again, slithering up toward him. From the recesses behind, he could hear Wormtail adding tonight's treasure to the cauldron he had taken from the woman's case. The servant did not speak again.

'You have tried and failed, Wormtail,' Voldemort continued. 'I do not have the patience or capacity to stomach another disappointment. I shall reassign the task.'

'Reassign?' Wormtail queried, recovering his voice.

'Nagini will go,' the Dark Lord clarified, watching the snake as it circled him.

'My Lord,' Pettigrew said doubtfully. 'She is… she is not magical, my Lord. Many wizards are incapable of entrapping a unicorn… Even if she does manage to take one down, how would she return it to –'

'Do not question me!' Voldemort hissed. 'She will have it tomorrow night. And you… you will have the remaining necessity.'

He would not possess her utterly; not yet, while she was still vulnerable. She could not perish like the rest. But still… one day should not prove fatal. And he could not afford to delay. The woman would secure Nagini, but Nagini, first, would need to ensure the woman survived to do so.

'The remaining?' the wizard echoed again, sounding confused. 'We… I have collected the yew bark, belladonna, asphodel and nightshade. There is only the blood left to –'

'In the morning, you shall travel to the valley,' he instructed over Wormtail's snivelling. 'There is a village with Wizarding presence. Be seen by no one.'

'I… of course, my Lord. But what –'

'Find a male child,' he went on. 'A magical child, of course. The precise age matters little… but he must not yet have gained a wand. _That_ , Wormtail, is very important.'

'I –'

'Subdue the child, but do not use magic to do so,' the Dark Lord continued. 'Perhaps a younger child would be best… they are less prone to screaming at strangers.'

'That… that will be difficult, my Lord,' Pettigrew opined in a squeak. 'Magical children so young, in a village with Muggles… they will be carefully supervised.'

'You may kill its parents, if necessary,' Voldemort said carelessly. 'But you will have to do so with Muggle means. You must not be seen and you must _not_ leave magical traces. Look for an orphanage, if you are too cowardly to face grown wizards. You will need to observe more closely to spot one with magical gifts… but those children are less scrupulously watched, and far easier to disappear.'

Wormtail swallowed heavily, looking frightened. 'Why… why do we need a boy, my Lord?' he ventured in a squeak, looking very much as though he dreaded the answer.

Nagini hissed again, winding her way into the shadows after a far less fortunate rat.

'Only flesh begets flesh, Wormtail,' the Dark Lord said quietly. 'Bring me the boy tomorrow… or you shall not live to see your next.'

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter 2**

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for reviewing! Interesting comments, as always. :) On the first, I do not believe you have need to worry – this is addressed shortly, as was foreshadowed in Chapter 2. Harry will not be kept in the dark about what is happening with the dreams… though he will not be given _all_ Albus' musings at once (nor will Snape). As far as what Snape and Dumbledore whispered about, however, Albus will share that information with Harry quite soon. I hope you like the way that resolves.

'Wilful blindness,' on the other hand, I found an interesting dichotomy, and indeed I had to do some research to explore it, as it was not an issue I have ever heard of before. Although that term was used in a response to a reviewer and not in the chapter itself, I do understand the sentiments you expressed. However, the term is actually one used often the law (which is probably why I have adopted its use). Legally, it is often used in statutory language to emphasise that choosing not to take steps to realise the obvious does not allow defence. The best example I can think of at the moment is transporting dangerous or illicit substances… the statute reads essentially that 'wilful blindness' can substitute for intent and/or knowledge (which are elements of most crimes, as you probably know): for example (and this was an actual case I tried two years ago), transporting a case for a known drug dealer without opening the lid to observe the contents cannot serve as a defence for aiding and abetting drug dealing, merely because the person transporting it chose not to investigate the contents and therefore denied knowledge that they were moving narcotics. I'm not sure the use of the phrase is at all derogatory… particularly when it is literally meant to refer to choosing not to see… in the same way that the phrase 'falling on deaf ears' quite literally implies that the person is choosing not to listen, rather than a slight on those hard of hearing. Neither serves to replace 'stupidity' or 'ignorance'… indeed, though both stupidity _and_ ignorance may well be used to describe many of Fudge's actions, neither was the point I was conveying with the term 'wilful blindness'… nor would it be a proper substitution for the phrase. Anyway, that was a lengthy explanation, but the short of it is that although I think you make an excellent point, I've never heard before that the phrase was at all politically incorrect. I shall, of course, always endeavour to ensure that nothing in my writing promotes prejudice in any way… and I can substitute the phrase in future if it proves problematic to readers.

I hope you enjoy Chapter Three!

 **Undeniably Uzumaki** : Thanks for reviewing! I'm very happy you liked the chapter and are enjoying the story, and very glad you have continued to review! I find the comments from readers very helpful in the process of writing and editing – especially as things grow more complex, so it is lovely to see that others are also thinking things through and sharing thoughts. Glad you enjoyed the bit about the Mark… one of the best parts of having Severus available as a POV character is being able to explore this brand more fully; and, of course, Albus allows for some of this too. I do not know if this was actually done in the canon world of JKR's mind… but I think it makes the most logical sense. After all, Severus and Karkaroff (and presumably the other Death Eaters, as Voldemort later alludes to in the graveyard) certainly noticed the Mark darkening with the passage of the year, and it seems to me Dumbledore would be able to connect those dots and should use them.

Ooh… now I'm _quite_ glad you queried on the dreams, and their effect on Harry. As with the Dementors in the previous book, we see that not only are the attacks more frequent, but they seem to be more intense than they were in the canon versions. I suppose I could punt the question and say that this is FanFic world, and thus I have taken liberties with Harry's constitution… but, while probably also correct, that is not the true answer here. As it is unlikely to be explained by characters unaware they are existing in an alternate reality, and thus is not a change I think will be a spoiler to explain, I will do something I rarely do in responses and answer the query – at least to a point. You are close, anyway, in your own musings. Though in canon Harry experiences vision/dreams as early as Philosopher's Stone, his first 'real' experience pervading Voldemort's mind does not come until Goblet of Fire and – though accompanied by severe pain and disquiet upon waking – does not leave him retching or feverish. We see some of this more violent reaction increasingly in Order of the Phoenix (particularly with the vision of Mr Weasley's attack, after which Harry is taken quite ill), and again in Deathly Hallows. Here, however, Harry's more advanced connection with his Magical Core and his training with Dumbledore and Snape have greatly accelerated his magical development in many ways. He is more powerful than he was at this point in canon. Though perhaps Harry's increasingly violent visions in the later canon novels might be explained by Voldemort's own increased power… I am of the belief that it is a product of both Voldemort's relative strength and Harry's own (which is complicated, of course, by the fact that Harry has a part of Voldemort's own power within himself… which grows in strength with both its master and its host). This will most _definitely_ have an effect on all our characters and their respective decisions on Harry's protection _and_ magical education, and particularly on the study of Occlumency… so I will stop the explanation here, for now, and let our characters pick it up.

I _am_ going to punt on the Moody inquiry, as I do think discussing now it might spoil things for you. I hope you'll like where we go with that, however… and I will say that I think we share scruples with the situation.

Thank you for the well wishes! The twins are doing wonderfully, and growing quite quickly. I cannot believe they are nearly two months old… it often seems the days are endless, but the weeks are gone in a flash. Nanny arrived last Wednesday. She has been a lifesaver already, though it is quite odd to even think of leaving the children under someone else's care. I suppose one grows used to it in time.

In any case, I hope you enjoy Chapter Three!

 **Blimey2310** : Thanks for reviewing! Very happy to hear you liked the chapter so much, and I thank you for all the compliments on the writing – I'm very glad it is coming across so well for you. Though honestly, you should see my sister's work… she makes me look like a third form student playing at dressing-up. Haha, I'll definitely let Lizzie know you agree with her; she'll be happy for the kindred spirit! And I swear I shall keep my word on Pettigrew… or, if for some hitherto unsuspected reason I find I cannot, I will give you a heads up. I hope you like Chapter Three!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for your review! Hmm, yes, Professor Trelawney _did_ predict Cedric's death. Although that _was_ one of her what we might call 'usual' predictions, rather than a 'prophecy.' It also has not yet come to pass… and we shall see… after all, who says Cedric is on my kill list?

Things are, for certain, about to get far, _far_ more complicated, very quickly. Haha, and I do agree with you: parent Albus is one of my favourites to write in this series. Hope you enjoy the next Chapter!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for your review! Glad you liked these interactions. Poor Harry – quite a confusing and unpleasant way to wake… although at least he gets to return to Hogwarts now. I hope you like where we go next!

 **Baelkaz** : Thank you for reviewing! Oh, I really do wish I could give you an answer on this one! I cannot, of course… but I'll share some thoughts anyway. Snape – yes, I _do_ think he wants Albus to tell Harry (as we saw at the end of Part II)… and yet he also fears Harry learning, because he knows, as Dumbledore forewarned him way back in Part I, that Harry's learning the prophecy is also likely to raise additional questions… and those questions could put Snape in an awkward situation. Still, ultimately he thinks (not incorrectly) that keeping Potter in the dark is more dangerous than it is helpful, because he views the 'childhood' Albus wishes to preserve as nothing more of a perilous hindrance to them than it is a gift to Harry. Now that the Dark Lord is actively seeking resurrection, that argument is starting to hold far more sway. We will see it come to a head in time, I promise, though I won't say exactly when we'll get that prophecy reveal. Now, it is interesting that you tie the prophecy revelation to Sirius' survival… I think, I canon, this is probably true – if Harry had learned the prophecy earlier, he would have taken Occlumency lessons more seriously and would probably not have been swayed to fall for Voldemort's intrigue. Now, I do think I can tell you without getting to spoiler-heavy that that timeline/series of events will not be the same in Child of Hogwarts. Whether that is enough to reverse Sirius' fate… I shan't say at this juncture.

I hope you enjoy Chapter Three!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thanks for your review! And very glad to hear you've a bit more time lately – it's always great to hear your comments and thoughts.

Harry's nightmares… another reader asked about them and I gave a fairly long response above, which you should definitely check out (it's a slightly different topic than this)… but yes, those are back and will grow in frequency and intensity from now – unless, of course, there is some intervention. Vernon and Petunia are the _worst_ , as we know… but even so it's rather fun to write them in, if only for a few scenes per book. Remus, though less informed than Albus and Severus here on what exactly this dream truly is, is nonetheless savvy enough to realise quite quickly that it is something the headmaster needs to know; and, of course, it also helps that he is concerned at the effect it has had on Harry and wishes to ensure he has treatment. Dumbledore does indeed have fears and concerns about this nightmare, particularly given his interrupted conversation with Snape which clearly puts the vision in quite an ominous light.

Bill, Grindelwald and that very ominous conversation at the end of Part II… we haven't seen the last of that. So far, we haven't had Albus' musings on what that might mean, or indeed confirmation that it was Harry that Gellert meant or why… but all of that is coming very shortly and will set the stage for much of what is to come in this book. As to Snape and the Dark Mark, that conflict will also drive a lot of this book – and, possibly, drive Snape into quite some emotional turmoil. As to whether Albus and Snape will clue up anyone else on the ominous happenings… well, I think you'll see soon. :)

Glad you're looking forward to the Fudge revelations – I hope you'll like them when we get there. And you are correct on your guess on the cottage – it is indeed Shell Cottage that Albus spoke of. How it figures in this particular book and if/how it later ends up in Bill's possession… you'll have to read to find out! :) Your thoughts on canon GOF are interesting… my own sister (not the writer, the publicist), actually always liked Book Four the least of the series as well; while for my brothers it was their favourite novel. I think she thought the tournament a distraction, on the whole, and she found the graveyard scene particularly gruesome. For me, I actually loved it (I think Order of the Phoenix was probably my least favourite, although I loved them all)… but I do think that it represents a real turning point for JKR – mainly that the novels clearly depart from the world of 'children's literature' and become about far more sophisticated and serious themes. In any case, I hope you like where we take Part III in its stead, and I hope you enjoy Chapter Three!

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for your review! You've raised some excellent queries… so I'm going to dive right into this. Does the Pensieve work on dreams? Great, _great_ question. But, I think, not the ultimate inquiry…. The Pensieve, in my mind, _must_ work on dreams to some extent (at least in the COH world), because Snape can certainly view Harry's 'dreams' in his mind during Legilimency, as he did in Part I (which he alluded to here in Chapter Two) and also did several times in canon OOTP. If the dream is accessible as a memory via Legilimency, then I think the same principles ought to allow for its extraction and use in a Pensieve. Now, that said, we also saw through Snape's POV when viewing the Ginny in the Chamber dream that these 'memories' have their limitations. As they are memories of dreams and not actual perceived events, they can be hazy or incomplete in both form and content, because they are limited to what the individual actually 'saw' in his or her dream and what they remember consciously and/or subconsciously. Harry, for example, had memories of enough of the Chamber from the dream that both he and Snape could recognise the place when they later arrived in it; but though he saw Ginny 'say' something to the statue in the dream, neither he nor Snape was able to discern what that was, because 'dream Harry' never really 'heard' it to begin with. Okay, so that was complicated. But now you are likely wondering what I meant by the 'ultimate inquiry' here… and this, I _will_ explain – if you don't already figure it out based on Albus' thoughts in the next chapter. :) But I love that you're thinking along these lines. This connects, of course, to the idea of 'living horcruxes'. How far Albus has got on connecting the dots, we should find out next chapter.

Mmm… the tournament. So, I _did_ toy with the idea of having Harry not compete this year. However, ultimately I decided that it would be more fun to watch how these characters deal with that twist in the story… particularly Albus. Going one-up on Albus Dumbledore is not an easy feat, particularly when it comes to his protection of Harry Potter… and here, perhaps, even more so than canon. So Harry will be competing – but the circumstances and reactions should, I hope, prove exciting and surprising in equal measure. I hope you like it!

Thanks for the tip on Belia166, by the way… I will definitely check out the story! I also need to read and review your latest chapter – perhaps I'll do that this evening :). Enjoy Chapter Three!

 **StarInk10** (Because the content is identical, I am assuming it was your review that was posted both under 'Guest' and your username): Thank you for your review! I really enjoyed you sharing all your thoughts, and I am very happy you are liking the series so much. I'll start with Severus and Albus, because I think it is also fascinating… particularly as you are right, we don't see much of their interactions, as the story is from Harry's POV. I think all of the issues you raised as possible motivators are true, in their own respects. The relationship is very multi-layered and complex. I have _so_ many things I want to say in response… but this is going to be explored and developed a lot over the COH series, and in particular when we get to the HBP portion of the event timeline… so I don't want to spoil everything. I will say, however, that I think Severus sees Dumbledore (now, though not, I think, from the start of his relationship with him) as a mixture of mentor, boss, protector, master, manipulator, sanctuary, enemy, friend and father-figure… while I think Albus sees Severus in a similarly complicated light. I think Albus 'trusts' Snape because of love… but I think it is – unbeknownst to Severus – more than that. I think that Albus recognised in Snape's love for Lily and his deep regret over the prophecy's revelation and Lily's subsequent death a bit of himself – the way he himself felt after the Grindelwald and Ariana tragedy. He is harsh with him, in that moment… but he also realises that he can 'save' Snape. He has the benefit of nearly a century's worth of time to reflect on his own rash actions and their terrible consequences, and he recognises that there is a road to redemption for Snape, if he can force him into taking it. He definitely manipulates Snape's strengths, weaknesses and flaws in a seemingly Machiavellian manner… but he does so for all the right reasons; and not just right by Harry, but also right by Snape. I've already said too much and yet not nearly enough… but I hope you like how this ultimately fleshes out in the story.

I'm also glad you seem to like the Harry and Snape dynamic. It is satisfying most of all because your scruples with many of the Snape-Harry centric fictions is _exactly_ what I myself often thought and felt while reading them… even some very well-written ones. And it is a path I refuse to fall into writing this story. Snape is a complex and very interesting character, and he is not heartless or evil… but he _is_ flawed, and he is by no means a 'wonderful' man, nor is his treatment of Harry always fair – even knowing what he now knows of Harry's home life. To the extent that there are (and there certainly are, and will be) changes in his treatment or view of Harry… I really want them to be as organic and natural as possible. I am glad you seem to agree with this – as I know it frustrates some readers at times. It's a marathon, not a sprint!

In any case, I really hope you enjoy Chapter Three!

 **Guest** (first guest reviewer): Thank you for the review and your compliments! I am glad to hear you are enjoying the book thus far, and hope you will like Chapter Three!

 **Guest** (second guest reviewer): Thanks for your review! I'm glad you're finding the story suspenseful and enjoying the action. Did my best to get Chapter Three ready to go quickly. I hope you like it!


	4. The Princes of Youth

**A/N:** If for some reason you have _not_ read Chapter three (thanks to Fanfiction's alerts error), you ought to go back and check that out before continuing with the new chapter. Also, I know this chapter has been several weeks in coming… that is because in addition to the madness of life, I found it was _immensely_ long. The reward for your long wait is that Chapter Five will be posted within the next day.

Other than that, I have little else to say except thank you for your patience and enjoy 'The Princes of Youth'. Responses at the end as usual.

 **Please** **read and review**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

CHAPTER FOUR

 **The Princes of Youth**

Godric's Hollow was sunny and bright when Remus apparated to the churchyard. Even through the summer's warmth, he suppressed a shudder as the memories returned as quickly as his breath. He had not set foot in this village since the day they had buried Lily and James.

It had been a beautiful service. Hundreds of mourners in attendance; despite Albus' attempts to keep the burial private. There had been so many that the Ministry had had to place Muggle-Repelling and Concealment charms throughout the centre of the high street to protect the Muggles noticing the spill-over from the tiny churchyard. At least a dozen Aurors and all the remaining Order had been present: to pay respects, of course… but also to oversee security of the masses. Harry hadn't been there. Dumbledore would not allow it, and Remus knew the decision was the right one. Eyes scanned the crowds looking for a glimpse of the Boy-Who-Lived… but there were far too many unfamiliar faces to be sure of their intentions.

Remus remembered speaking, though not precisely what he'd said. He just recalled staring around at the sea of faces… wondering just how many had ever even _met_ James or Lily… how many had dropped a line of comfort in the terrifying year they'd been in hiding? How many knew that James' eyes were less hazel than gold in the right sunlight, or that Lily held her wand between her teeth when she straightened the pantry? How many of the weeping mourners cared, really, that the Potters were gone, so long as they had taken Lord Voldemort with them? They left the churchyard for their parties and their families and their peace… and he fled the country in his grief.

He had never returned, though it had been more than a year, now, since he'd resumed life in Britain. A part of him felt that perhaps he ought to pay his respects. Sirius, he was sure, would have snuck out to the church at the first chance he could. He would not be surprised if the black dog haunted this churchyard nightly, just as his omen was rumoured to do. But Remus could not face the white marble alone. It did not matter, anyway. He saw James and Lily in their living son – much more than he ever could from a slab of stone. He trusted that they knew that, somehow, and were happy for it. If they begrudged him his graveside appearance… well, he supposed he'd pay for it in the afterlife.

Remus pushed through the memories and the kissing gate, not allowing his gaze to wander. He set off down the street instead. Four Muggle children brushed by him, laughing as they chased a football up the cobblestones. The walk to Bathilda's was familiar, though it set his already racing heart to a gallop. The house, he had never seen… not even the day of the funeral…

But it was not necessary to go so far. He turned up her little path, and rapped his knuckles on the polished wood.

'Who is it?' a high voice inquired from the opposite side.

'Remus Lupin.'

He could hear fingers scrabble the shield of the peep-hole. A cataract-shrouded eye appeared. 'How can I be sure?' the woman's voice demanded.

'Ask him his Marauder name,' said a deeper voice.

Remus rolled his eyes. 'It's rather stupid to be making demands if you're going to _announce_ yourself, Padfoot,' he growled in a whisper. 'And the answer is Moony.'

The eye turned away, apparently for a confirmation. The little shield creaked closed again, and Remus heard the turning of several heavy locks.

'In, quickly!' the witch squealed, grasping his shoulder with surprising strength and ushering him past the threshold. She had slammed and locked the door before Remus could even straighten.

'It's good to see you, Padfoot,' he greeted Sirius when Bathilda had turned. 'And you, Bathilda. Thank you for your help with this.'

The wizened little witch waved away his gratitude with an age-spotted hand. 'It's nothing,' she assured him. 'Happy to be useful. Though Albus did not indicate _quite_ what a job I'd have on my hands with this one.' She jerked her head irritably at Sirius. 'It's as though he _wants_ to be caught.'

Sirius scowled indignantly. 'It was _one_ time, Batty,' he protested. 'And I was barely gone five minutes…'

'What part of _in_ the house did you not comprehend?' she retorted in exasperation.

Remus half-smiled, for the argument had the air of one repeated many times before. 'The churchyard?' he guessed quietly.

Padfoot gave a stiff nod. 'I had to,' he said hoarsely. 'I wasn't there to see…'

'I get it,' Remus assured him. He squeezed his shoulder bracingly. Bathilda sniffed in an irritable sort of way, but she did not scoff at the sentiment.

'I'll knock up some tea,' she said instead. And she tottered off toward the kitchen, leaving Sirius to show Remus into the sitting room.

'How's Harry?' Sirius asked at once. 'Been wanting to write him, but Albus says –'

'He doesn't want you to until you're at the cottage and he's at Hogwarts,' Remus finished for him. 'It'll be safer then.'

'Yes,' Sirius agreed. He was frowning. 'I thought _you_ were supposed to be with him though. Dumbledore's letter didn't explain much. You didn't leave him –'

'No,' Remus said, cutting across the unfinished question. 'We had to bring him back a bit early. He's with Albus now.'

Sirius' frown deepened. 'What do you mean, had to?' he repeated. 'Is he alright?'

Remus looked toward the kitchen, where he could hear the echo of a kettle scraping the hob. He was not sure how much Dumbledore would want shared, even with Bathilda. Sirius grabbed his forearm and turned him sharply to face him.

'She'll be ages – she does it the Muggle way,' he growled. 'Tell me what –'

'Harry's fine. Or he is now, at any rate,' Remus whispered. 'But there was an incident at his aunt and uncle's…'

He explained briefly about the dream, and Albus' sinister musings. He could see his own worries reflected in Sirius' eyes as he spoke.

'His _scar_ was burning?' Sirius repeated in concern as Remus finished.

Remus nodded grimly. 'And he says it has never done this before, outside the presence of Voldemort at Hogwarts in his first year.'

Sirius rubbed at the stubble on his chin, brow furrowed.

'And Dumbledore is _sure_ the dream was real?' he hissed. 'There's no possibility it was just… I don't know, an ordinary nightmare?'

'You didn't see him,' Remus said grimly. 'He was _ill_ , Sirius. Seriously so.'

'Children can have bad reactions to nightmares,' Sirius reasoned. 'My brother, Reg, used to get awful night terrors when he was small. He'd wake up all drenched in sweat, screaming his head off. It used to take me hours to calm him down.'

'Harry is nearly fourteen,' Remus pointed out. 'No nightmare could have done _this_ to a teenager. He was fevered, vomiting – just a right mess. And Albus… I suppose there isn't any way to be positive, but he's not often working off a false hunch, is he?'

'I don't know,' Sirius disagreed darkly. 'He _did_ leave me in a cell for twelve years while Wormtail roamed the Wizarding World.'

Remus winced at the reminder. 'We all made mistakes,' he allowed. 'Even Dumbledore. But I don't think this is one of them, Padfoot. Harry… his scar was inflamed, throbbing. And there was something else too. I don't know all the details, but something happened to Severus.'

Sirius made a noise like an angry tiger. ' _Snivellus_ ,' he spat. 'Who cares what he –'

'He has the Mark, remember?' Remus interrupted.

'All the more reason he should be kept several continents away from my godson,' Sirius insisted. 'A fucking Death Eater, and Albus lets him _teach_ at that castle? The less Harry has to do with –'

'I think it pained him, the same night Harry had the dream,' Remus said over him. 'He was up with Dumbledore when I arrived. And I have never seen him so…' he trailed off, trying to find the right word. 'Unnerved,' he decided at last.

Sirius broke his grip on Remus' arm, pacing the floor. 'We should have killed the little bastard that night,' he snarled. 'We ought to find him _now_ … that'd put an end to this.'

'That's what I'm trying to tell you,' Remus said. 'Albus thinks it is too late – he's already made it back to Voldemort.'

Sirius threw himself onto the sofa, his jaw working in temper. 'So, what now?' he asked bluntly. 'We wait for the damn Death Eaters to –'

'I've made up some sandwiches to go with,' Bathilda said fussily, bustling back into the room and balancing a tray with her wand. 'Your near as skinny as this one, Remus,' she chastised.

She flicked the wand, setting the tray to the table. She did not seem to notice both guests jump at her re-entry. Remus gave Sirius a tiny shake of his head, and hitched a half-hearted smile back into place.

'Thank you,' he said politely to the witch. He selected a cucumber sandwich. 'They look delicious.'

Bathilda nodded, and began to press a second into Sirius' hand. She ignored his attempt to wave her off.

'You'll be staying the night?' she inquired of Remus, when at last Sirius had caved to the entreaty.

He nodded, swallowing his oversized bite of sandwich. 'Yes, if that's alright,' he choked out. Bathilda passed him a cup of sweet tea, and he took a large gulp before continuing. 'Albus should be here by sundown tomorrow.'

'Why so long?' Sirius asked with a raised eyebrow. 'Or couldn't we just go on ahead, if he's busy? Not that it isn't lovely here, Batty,' he added quickly at her squawk of indignation. 'But I hate to keep putting you out.'

Remus shook his head. 'Albus needs to take us directly because of the wards,' he explained. 'And he's out of the country at the moment, visiting at Beauxbâtons.'

'The Triwizard Tournament,' Bathilda recalled with a sage nod. 'I'd nearly forgotten they planned a reinstatement.'

Sirius looked grave. 'Is that wise?' he asked darkly. 'Dumbledore has enough going on at the moment.'

'I would agree,' Remus said with a sigh. 'But Albus won't hear of postponing. He feels encouraging ties with wizards of other cultures is of particular benefit to the students in times of turmoil. He says it reminds us that we are not living in isolation, and discourages prejudice and misjudgement.'

'Perfectly true,' Bathilda agreed. Sirius continued to frown, but did not speak. 'What an undertaking though,' she mused. 'Such precedent in the tasks… they'll have been negotiating for months on the details.'

'Yes,' Remus confirmed. 'I believe they started over a year ago, now. And there has been much concern over the safety of the champions, of course. Though the new restriction should help.'

'What restriction?' Sirius asked curiously, coming out of his melancholy a bit.

'The champions must be seventeen to compete,' Bathilda answered. 'I understand Karkaroff was against the rule, but –'

'Karkaroff?' Sirius repeated, expression darkening again. ' _Igor_ Karkaroff? What's _he_ to do with anything?'

'Karkaroff is the headmaster of Durmstrang,' Bathilda replied. She frowned a bit herself now. 'And from what I understand, he has taken the curriculum in a much darker direction. Durmstrang has always had a different approach to magical education than Hogwarts, of course, but Karkaroff's is rumoured to be even more extreme. Naturally, it is hard to be certain with all this shrouded secrecy among the competing institutions… but I remember when my own nephew was –'

Sirius, however, was not listening. Remus watched his face arrest at Bathilda's information, and he was ready for the explosion. He should have anticipated it sooner. He hurried to cast a silencing charm about the room, in case the witch's wards were not strong enough.

Bathilda, on the other hand, nearly upturned her tea at the bellow that interrupted her babbling.

'He _WHAT_?!' Sirius railed, actually rising from the sofa in agitation. 'He is _head_ of the school? KARKAROFF! Don't they _know_ what he did? Don't they _care_?!'

'Sirius –'

'Don't, Remus!' Sirius snarled. He ran a hand over his hair, striding about the room with his wand in his fist.

'We can hardly control the governments of other countries, Sirius,' Bathilda reminded him. 'And certainly we cannot control their schools. The allegations against Igor Karkaroff –'

'Were _TRUE_!' Sirius shouted. 'And more. That the Ministry allowed him to worm his way out of Azkaban is a greater travesty than my own imprisonment! I would have KILLED him.'

'Albus is not unaware of Karkaroff's past,' Remus said quietly. 'I suspect it is one of the main reasons he desires Alastor Moody to teach at the castle this year, to keep a watch out.'

'There is no need to watch out for the dead,' Sirius spat. 'I swear, the moment he touches British soil, I will –'

'Don't talk rubbish,' Bathilda scolded, looking frightened. 'Whatever he did was more than a decade ago now, Sirius. You'll get yourself –'

'HE KILLED HER!' Sirius roared. He picked up the nearest vase and threw it hard against the bricks of the fireplace. Bathilda gave a muffled squeal as porcelain shards tinkled to the floor. 'He MURDERED HER, Remus – right in front of me. He TOOK HER –'

'We don't know that it was him,' Remus reasoned, though he privately agreed. 'It was chaos that night, Sirius. There were a dozen of them there in masks in the street. It could have been any –'

'I heard him laugh,' Sirius insisted. 'I _heard_ him, Remus, mocking me – sitting there, covered in bits of her, shouting for Lance to come quicker… holding her while she died. I _know_ it was him.'

Bathilda was looking equal parts shocked, confused and desperately sad. Remus stood. He waved his wand to mend the vase, levitating it back to its corner table. He grabbed Sirius firmly by the wrist.

'We'll get justice for her, Sirius,' he said softly. 'He'll pay, one day for what he did. They all will.'

Sirius shrugged out of the comforting grip and threw himself back on the sofa.

'The more times I hear that,' he said bitterly, 'The less I believe it is true.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The manor was just as stately as he remembered, though Severus had not visited in several years. The gravel glinted pearly white in the late afternoon sun, and the high yew hedgerows that lined the drive were immaculately pruned. Several albino peacocks sunning themselves along the top watched him through wary eyes as he wound his way toward the wrought iron entry gates, which swung open automatically to admit him. This was an expected visit, after all.

The first time he had been invited to call at Malfoy Manor, Severus had been but seventeen, fresh off his sixth year at Hogwarts. He had been beyond impressed with the beautiful grounds, the flawless gardens and the many-tiered fountains. And he had been even more enthralled with what lay _within_ the gilded halls. Inclusion. Ambition. Power.

 _'Severus,' Lucius had greeted, nodding him toward a finely furnished drawing room while a tiny House-elf shut the door. 'It is good to see you again.'_

 _'And you, Lucius,' Severus acknowledged politely. Malfoy snapped his fingers, and a second elf appeared with a tray of balanced wine. Severus accepted a long-stemmed goblet with a grace he hoped did not seem too affected. 'I offer my congratulations on your recent marriage.'_

 _Several of the men in the room tittered. There were seven in total, himself and Lucius included. Nearly all were closer to Lucius' age than his own, and Malfoy was six years Severus' senior; only one wizard, Avery, was still at school. But he knew almost everyone by sight or reputation even if he had spoken to few in the past. All but Avery were perched on antique sofas and armchairs near the handsome hearth. His fellow Hogwarts student, meanwhile, stood slightly apart, watching Severus with an echo of nervous excitement in his eyes._

 _'I thank you,' Lucius said politely._

 _'The better of the three, if you'll be wanting an heir,' Rodolphus Lestrange offered with a crass laugh. 'Speaking from experience.'_

 _Lucius sent him a nasty glare, though many in the group were chortling again. Severus did not dare to show expression either way. He had never met Narcissa's sisters… though he knew Rodolphus had married the eldest. The middle daughter, if he recalled correctly, had been exiled from the rest of the family for her own imprudent marriage. That Rodolphus cared little for his wife did not surprise him: so many of the purest families married for connection or status… and, of course, to preserve the sacred blood. But though these ambitions had been fulfilled in Lucius' own match, Severus knew that this was merely fortuitous circumstance. He and Narcissa, like her wayward sister, had married for love._

 _Of course, love was easier where the match was wise._

 _'Enough,' Lucius commanded. The others broke off their gaiety at once. Though Rodolphus was certainly the more senior of the lot, the Manor was Lucius' territory. 'Come, Severus,' he invited, making his way toward the fire. 'There is much news to catch up on.'_

 _Severus moved automatically to stand nearer to Avery. Lucius, meanwhile, took a high wing-backed chair at what was clearly the head of the grouping. They struck an impressive pose, these men: all finely dressed and handsome, seated together in the gilded room with their elderflower wine and their tittering and their branded arms. Severus had improved his own robes with a spell on the path… but transfigured finery and a well-shielded mind could not conceal his Otherness from this lot. Even Avery's family was one of the Twenty-Eight. They were, each of them, born into greatness._

 _They did not know what it was to take it._

 _'You know, I presume, why we have invited you tonight?' Lucius said, addressing Severus and his fellow student companion._

 _Avery smirked with excitement, but Severus kept his face deliberately impassive. 'I have a fair idea,' he conceded silkily._

 _Lucius was watching him without emotion. The crackling fire reflected off the cold grey of his eyes, giving Severus the odd impression that he was staring into the depths of diamond. Severus longed to see if Lucius' mind was as well protected as his expression… but he did not dare to push his curiosity._

 _Slowly, Malfoy nodded. 'Good,' he said, with the first hint of a smile. 'Then perhaps you would enlighten us all… what are your plans for after Hogwarts?'_

 _'You are certain, Lucius, that this is wise?' a burly man Severus thought was called Evan Rosier grunted. He did not bother to hide his distaste as he surveyed Severus through narrowed eyes. 'The boy is half-Muggle, after all.'_

 _'And half Prince,' Severus countered._

 _Rosier scoffed. 'The Princes are hardly much to speak off,' he criticised. 'Their blood was in question even before your_ mother _married. They do not appear in the Sacred Twenty-Eight.'_

 _Severus felt a hot surge of anger burn his throat; but, with a massive effort, he kept it from his face. He knew Rosier was goading him deliberately. This was a test… and he could not fail._

 _He kept his dark eyes fixed and his features smooth as he stared the Death Eater down. After a few moments, Rosier looked back to Lucius. 'You know how He feels about those without Status,' he said to Malfoy. 'What has this one got, to interest Him?'_

 _Lucius smirked. 'Severus is a Potioneer.'_

 _Rodolphus snorted this time. 'So is Culus, and he's got about three decades of experience,' he countered. 'Why bother with another?'_

 _'Marcus Culus is growing older,' Malfoy reminded him. 'He is but one man, and already his allegiance is known to Dumbledore. His people will come hunting before long. We would be fools not to look elsewhere.'_

 _'Alright, but_ him _?' Rodolphus demanded._

 _Lucius' grey eyes flashed. '_ Who _has been chosen to select candidates?' he challenged icily. '_ Who _has been trusted to head the recruitment? The last time I checked, Lestrange, our Lord had granted that honour to_ me _… and Slughorn himself considers Severus among the most talented he has ever taught.'_

 _There was a very awkward silence as the two men considered each other. Severus remained expressionless, sipping casually at his wine._

 _'Severus has a gift for Dark spellwork as well,' a new voice put in. The group turned to face the speaker. This time Severus knew him well. Mulciber had been a year ahead of him, and had left Hogwarts only the month before._

 _'He's even invented several spells,' the wizard continued. He nodded toward Severus. 'Show them that last one, Snape,' he suggested._

 _Everyone was looking now. Wordlessly, Severus conjured a straw dummy and floated it to the centre of the room. He pointed his wand at it._

 _'_ Sectumsempra! _' he cried, slashing the wand. A deep rip appeared in the dummy's chest, sending bits of straw fluttering to the floor._

 _Rosier rose from his seat. He bent over the dummy, examining the incision in its torso. When he brought his gaze back up to meet Severus, his eyes were glinting maliciously. 'A cutting hex,' he mocked. 'Not exactly advanced Dark Magic, Snape.'_

 _'It is no mere cutting hex,' Severus disagreed, with just a touch of venom now. 'That curse will cause wounds that will tear through flesh and bone alike. The gashes will bleed unstoppably, unless they are countered with a powerful healing charm.'_

 _Rosier raised a disbelieving eyebrow. 'I think we shall have to test that,' he hissed. He glanced around the room. 'Any volunteers?'_

 _Nobody spoke. 'Lucius,' Rosier called. 'I dare say you have a servant too many in this Manor.'_

 _Lucius snapped his fingers. The little House-elf that had been serving the wine reappeared, bowing low at his master's feet._

 _'Tippy,' Lucius greeted it without looking. 'Stand in the centre of the room. Do not move.'_

 _The House-elf obeyed at once. Rosier slunk to the side, watching Severus with wicked anticipation. Severus refused to show reservation, though his heart beat unsteadily as he pointed his wand. The little elf was watching him through wide, slightly fearful eyes… but he did not move a muscle._

 _'_ Sectumsempra! _' Severus bellowed again, swishing his wand arm in an arc._

 _This time, the fine oriental rug was sprayed with scarlet as the spell made contact. Blood spattered across the front of Severus' robes and Rosier's smirking face. The latter did not bother to wipe it away as he shuffled toward the elf._

 _Tippy, obedient even in his distress, had not moved. The sight turned Severus' stomach._

 _'Very impressive,' Lucius offered. Several of his companions murmured their agreement._

 _Still, the elf continued to bleed. Rosier was now a foot from the creature, cocking his head as he examined Severus' handiwork._

 _'Not bad, for a Half-blood,' he admitted at last._

 _'I can heal it, if you wish,' Severus suggested, speaking to the host again._

 _Lucius, who was refilling his own wine as his servant bled out, waved a nonchalant hand._

 _'Move,' Severus grunted, pushing at Rosier's shoulder. With one hand steadying the little elf, he began to run his wand across the wound he had left, chanting the charm which would seal it._

 _'Dittany will speed the healing,' he informed Malfoy, turning back to the group. Lucius nodded and dismissed the elf. Avery waved his own wand at the soiled carpet, vanishing the pool of scarlet._

 _'So, to return to the subject at hand,' Lucius said when he'd finished, 'What will you do when you leave Hogwarts, Severus?'_

 _Severus smirked darkly, excitement and triumph mounting in his chest._

 _'Whatever He requires,' he vowed._

Severus' temper today could not have been more inapposite with that summer's call nearly seventeen years ago. Today, the illustrious gardens and stately halls held no promise but the coming of war. And the coming of war was no longer the glorious triumph it had once promised to be.

He raised a fist to knock on the high oak door. It flew open before he could begin.

'What are _you_ doing here?' a drawling voice demanded.

Draco Malfoy had stopped short at the threshold, a broomstick clutched in one hand and eyes wide with surprise. Severus raised an eyebrow.

Draco huffed. 'Of course,' he complained with a roll of his eyes. 'I wondered why Father insisted I amuse myself outdoors…'

He trailed off, looking sullen. Severus could scent the danger immediately. He stepped out of the way.

'Do not let me delay you, Draco,' he said pointedly.

Draco scowled. 'If this is about _me_ –'

'To my knowledge, it has nothing to do with you,' Severus interrupted smoothly. 'Your marks were more than satisfactory at the end of term. So unless you are in possession of some knowledge I am not…'

The teenager's face relaxed. He smirked. 'Alright then,' he agreed, hoisting the broom more securely in his grip. 'Are you staying to supper?'

'If your mother insists,' Severus answered. 'I have never been able to refuse her yet.'

'Draco – it is impolite to leave guests on the steps,' Lucius' deep voice scolded. He was smiling as he made his way across the grand foyer, boots clicking on the marble. But Severus could read strain behind the steely gaze. He put a hand on his son's shoulder as he joined them. 'Come in with time to change,' he instructed, pushing Draco lightly toward the door.

Draco looked as though he longed to argue his presence, but he did not dare to challenge his father in company. He stalked off toward the garden with a curious glance back at the pair of them.

'Apologies, Severus,' Lucius said, shutting the door firmly behind his son. 'He has lately decided that few conversations are complete without his attendance.'

He turned, gesturing with an arm toward a parlour on the opposite side. 'Let us speak in here. Narcissa is visiting with the Minister's wife. We should not be disturbed.'

Severus followed the instruction and stepped into the room. Blazing sunlight shone through the diamond paned windows, turning the cream and green furnishings slightly gold.

'Your missive was not particularly informative, Lucius,' Severus noted as the latter turned a lock in the door. 'Not that I was not happy to pay a call.'

Lucius gave him a swift look. Now that they were safely shut away, he let more of his unease seep into his expression. He did not speak, however, until he had joined his companion by the window.

'Surely you know why I have asked you here,' he said at last in a low whisper. 'I cannot have been the only one…'

Severus was silent a moment. Through the glass, he watched Draco's figure tear off after a glint of gold in the distance.

'No,' he said finally. 'I expect you were not, Lucius.'

Malfoy let out a deep breath. He rested his left hand on the ledge of the window, the muscles of his forearm taut.

'So long it has been, Severus,' he said in a whisper. 'Godric's Hollow seems a lifetime ago. I had never expected…'

'There are few that did, I would wager,' Severus agreed.

'But what can this mean?' Lucius asked, flexing his fingers as if to entice the burn's return. 'Does it indicate his return? Or is it, perhaps, merely some paltry echo?'

'I have no idea,' Severus said smoothly. 'But I doubt it is entirely benign.'

'Twelve years…' Lucius mused. He compressed his fingers again. 'Twelve years, he has been gone. He has been _finished_. We all kept ears out, of course, but not a trace. I have believed him dead.'

Severus made a noise in the back of his throat. Lucius shot him another sharp look. 'You disagreed?' he challenged.

Severus shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'I too believed the Dark Lord finished, Lucius… but dead? No… I was never sure. I am even less so, now. The Mark cannot be controlled by another. It may be that he has found a way to return to us.'

Lucius' jaw was hard. He clenched and unclenched the fingers of his branded arm almost manically. 'Are you _certain_ it can be controlled by no other?' he asked, his voice even softer. 'You do not think, perhaps, another dark wizard… perhaps the Potter boy after all? We had all wondered, of course… for one so young to escape Him –'

'Harry Potter has neither the talent nor the inclination,' Severus dismissed impatiently. 'He is mediocre on his best day, and he never leaves the headmaster's wake. Whatever dreams some might have had where the boy was concerned, Lucius, are nothing but idle fantasy.'

Lucius half-smiled in spite of himself. 'Odious child,' he agreed. 'Draco complains of him constantly.'

'Draco judges character well,' Severus said with a nod. 'Though he would be wise to refrain from such open hostility toward Potter, with the headmaster's favouritism so entrenched. It draws both unnecessary attention and suspicion.'

'As I continually remind him,' Lucius sighed. 'But children are less gifted at concealing their emotions… even those who have been raised in the better class.'

Severus inclined his head, but did not comment.

'But what of Dumbledore?' Malfoy redirected, his eyes narrowing. 'Has he been _informed_ , Severus, of the Mark's awakening?'

'Of course not,' Severus lied. 'I do not have a death wish, Lucius. I have managed to keep my position at the school… that will be useful, I think. But Dumbledore is no fool – He is not,' he emphasised at Lucius' snort. 'He is bound to notice… from another, if not myself. He is in France at the moment, but I intend to tell him the moment he returns.'

' _You_ –'

'Do you think he will keep his trust in me, should he discover the signs from another?' Severus challenged, turning fully to face Malfoy. 'If the Dark Lord _does_ rise again, Lucius, he will want information. He will want the school, the headmaster… and Harry Potter. How can I assist in any of it should Dumbledore suspect my allegiance? No… I will tell him, and he will trust me implicitly still. It is the only option.'

Lucius dropped his hand from the window ledge. In the far-off pitch, Draco dove for the ground.

'He will be exceedingly angry,' Lucius whispered. 'He does not forgive disloyalty easily… he will not be inclined to show mercy to us: any of us.'

'We were not disloyal,' Severus countered. 'We followed him; served him faithfully.'

'And then lied and bribed our way out of Azkaban,' Lucius reminded him. 'He will see that, Severus, as betrayal.'

'The Dark Lord trades in power and service,' Severus said. 'He of all men will recognise that there is no bringing about of a new world order from either the grave or the cell.'

He spoke confidently, though he knew the words were hollow. The minute the Dark Lord returned, he would ensure those who had left him to rot felt every moment of their betrayal. Logic, however true, would factor not at all in the equation. Severus knew that Lucius was just as cognisant of the inevitability.

'If he survived, and we did not come to his aide… it may be better for all involved if he does not succeed in a return,' Malfoy admitted in a whisper.

'You should not speak so, Lucius,' Severus hissed. 'Even to me.'

There was a long, strained silence. Draco had dismounted on the garden path. His mother – returned from her visit – was awaiting him on the walk. Both men moved from the window's view as the pair made their way back toward the house.

'There is nothing to do now but wait,' the Potions master said. 'If the Summons comes… we will know.'

Lucius looked at him again. For the first time, there was a different sort of concern in his face.

' _You_ will have more explanation to give then the rest of us,' he pointed out with a frown. 'Twelve years at Dumbledore's feet, Severus… the headmaster himself proclaiming your loyalties had shifted. Will you still answer the Summons, if it comes?'

Severus held the grey gaze with his own fathomless one. 'Both events which occurred at the Dark Lord's command,' he said curtly. 'My loyalties, Lucius have never wavered. The Dark Lord cannot be deceived. He will see the truth. And I am not fool enough to refuse his call either way.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry had had no idea that the sea could be so blue.

Of course, he had never really _been_ to the sea… unless you counted that one terrifying experience the day that Hagrid had arrived to tell him about Hogwarts. That sea, Harry remembered, had been grey and angry, beating against their little boat and the stone island with the miserable hut. Perhaps it was the storm that had done it.

That trip, now he thought about it, had been the closest thing to a 'holiday' Harry had ever had. The Dursleys had certainly never taken him anywhere. They sometimes took Dudley on a family break in the summer, but he had always been left with Mrs Figg, or once with Aunt Petunia's snippy little friend Yvonne from the garden club. He could count the number of times he'd left Surrey before Hogwarts on his hands. Back then, even a shopping trip to town had seemed an incredible expedition.

France was something else entirely.

'It is beautiful,' Albus said appreciatively, coming to stand at Harry's side on the cliff overlooking the sea. They watched the sun glint off the shimmering water. Far below to their right, Harry could see pinpricks of Muggle bathers on a distant beach. Several boats were winding through the sea, cutting sharp streams of white waves.

Harry smiled. 'It's so blue,' he said aloud. 'And it's so warm here – much warmer than at home.'

'Indeed,' Albus agreed. His eyes were almost a perfect match to the water, and sparkling just as brightly. 'If we were not on such a sensitive timetable, I would suggest spending a day at the beach. But, alas, we are already cutting it fine to reach Beauxbâtons in time.'

Harry looked around, half expecting a Hogwarts-size castle to pop up right in front of them. There was a sprawling city not far off, but nothing in their immediate vicinity but the bustling little portkey station they'd left a few moments ago.

'Er… is it close by, sir?' he ventured.

Albus inclined his head. 'Not very far off,' he said. 'But we will need to apparate.'

Harry tried not to show his inner groan. They had already taken two portkeys this morning – one from Hogsmeade to Calais, and a second from Calais to the Mediterranean coast. Apparition was not as horrendous as the jolting feeling behind one's navel that portkey travel induced… but it was an awful lot of magical travel for one morning.

The headmaster seemed to guess how Harry was feeling.

'Do not worry,' he reassured him. 'That is Marseille, just there,' he explained, pointing toward the city on the sea. 'The entrance to Beauxbâtons is only seventy-five miles or so, on the outskirts of Nîmes. It will not be a difficult apparition.'

Harry nodded. Dumbledore held out his arm, and Harry took it. In a flash, they were speeding away into compressing darkness.

When they alighted again, Harry was stifling. The sea was no longer in sight, though he thought he could taste a hint of salt in the muggy air. They were on a narrow road facing what looked like a small city, mountains rising in the distance.

'Welcome to Nîmes,' Albus announced, as Harry caught his breath.

'It's boiling,' Harry gasped out. He wiped a bit of sweat from his temple. Albus chuckled.

'Yes,' he agreed. 'It is one of the warmest climates in France. But we will not need to walk far… our destination is just up the street.'

He gestured toward the cobblestones, which seemed to lead toward the centre of the town. Harry matched pace as the headmaster began to lead them on.

'I thought we were in France,' he said in confusion, stopping short as they reached the crest of a hill and a huge, rounded structure came into view in the centre of the town below. Harry's immediate thought – from the shape of the structure – was of pictures he had seen of Rome. Dumbledore smiled.

'We are,' he assured him. 'The amphitheatre is, like our destination, a relic of Roman rule. It was once used for Roman games, just as the Colosseum was in Rome. Today, it is used mainly for Muggle events, particularly the Feria de Nîmes.'

'The what?'

'Bullfighting,' Albus clarified. 'A Spanish tradition, for the most part. But it is quite popular in this part of France as well.'

He turned them away from the amphitheatre, however, onto a smaller street to the right. They wound their way through the city. Nobody appeared to glance their way, and Harry suspected the headmaster had again put some sort of charm on them to conceal their presence. Dumbledore seemed to know where he was going… which was a good thing, for Harry was already turned around inside the bustle of activity. They passed groups of holiday-makers chattering in a variety of languages, harried-looking women toting shopping, teenagers smoking on street corners, and many children at play. The city itself seemed to be a mix of ancient and more modern architecture, and everything appeared to have been built in stone of white or grey. Harry, who was growing increasingly hot with the exercise, wondered if the light colouring kept the dwellings cooler in summer as he pulled at his damp collar.

'It is just here,' Albus said, bearing left and gesturing Harry forward.

Harry knew at once what the headmaster meant. Before them stood the imposing façade of an ancient temple, several stairs leading up to an entrance supported by high Corinthian columns. The building was set on a high podium, with a deep sort of landing holding a set-back entrance. Like the amphitheatre, it seemed quite out of place in southern France. Though Harry knew, vaguely, that Roman rule had extended throughout much of Europe, he never really thought about their buildings' existence outside of their eponymous city.

He craned his neck back to see the top of the temple. It was intricately carved at the roof. 'What is it?' he asked.

'It is called the Maison Carrée,' Albus answered. 'It is French for "square house." Nîmes was founded in the first century as a Roman colony, and as such has several Roman buildings and ruins in and around her borders. This particular temple was dedicated to Lucius and Gaius Caesar, heirs to Augustus by adoption, but sons of Agrippa by birth.'

'Agrippa…' Harry repeated. 'I think I know that name. Isn't he on a chocolate frog card? Ron's always going on about needing it…'

Dumbledore chuckled softly. 'Cornelius Agrippa,' he explained, 'Is indeed on a chocolate frog card. Cornelius Agrippa was a celebrated wizard who lived in Germany in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. He made great strides in potions and in the oft-misunderstood branch of Alchemy, but he is perhaps most famous for his written work. He wrote extensively on the need for equality between witches and wizards – for it was a time in which magic in many countries, Germany included, was dominated mainly by men. Indeed, Agrippa went so far in his most famous novel as to proclaim the female sex superior of the two… earning himself many enemies in the political sphere. Several wizards plotted against him in the aftermath, disseminating his research into occult magics among Muggles in the area.'

'Among _Muggles?'_ Harry repeated, frowning.

'Quite so,' said the headmaster. 'This was, of course, before the concealment of the Wizarding World. Agrippa was not a dark wizard – but, like many of the keenest philosophers, he was very interested in the nature of magic, and thus explored strange and unusual studies. His enemies realised that most Muggles would be frightened by his magical knowledge, particularly of Alchemy, and they published his works. He spent several years imprisoned as a result.'

'That's awful!' Harry growled.

'It is,' Albus agreed. 'Though I suppose it is some posthumous comfort that his legacy has been immortalised in a sweet.'

Harry grinned despite himself. 'But… he isn't the Agrippa whose sons this temple was built for?'

'No,' Albus confirmed. 'Though he was a descendant of the same. The Maison Carrée predates Cornelius Agrippa by nearly 1500 years. It was built in 7 A.D. and dedicated to the two sons of Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, who were both raised as surrogate children and heirs by their maternal grandfather, the emperor Augustus.'

'They were wizards?'

'The boys? Yes,' Albus said. 'Both had inherited Magic from Agrippa, their biological father. Emperor Augustus was not Magical, but he was a wise and powerful ruler. He had no sons of his own, but he loved Gaius and Lucius immensely. Unable to choose between them and conscious that two minds are often better than one, Augustus sought to leave the Empire in the hands of both wizards jointly. Unfortunately, the two princes died in early adulthood. Augustus ordered the temple dedicated in their honour: to the Princes of Youth. It remains one of the best-preserved of the Roman constructions.'

And it was a beautiful temple, Harry thought, though it was not nearly so large as he would have guessed. It was completely windowless. Dumbledore led him not through the high columns into the crowded interior, but along the side of the building and to the rear. The noise of the crowd around the entryway seemed very distant from the back. The headmaster stopped, staring at the slightly-mouldy white stone of the base.

Harry stared too.

'Er… do we have to do something, to get inside?' he asked after a moment.

'Indeed we do,' Albus agreed. 'But I wonder, Harry, if you can find the entry.'

Harry gaped. 'What do you mean, find it?' he asked in confusion. 'I don't know how to open it…'

Dumbledore smiled. 'I will do that part,' he said. 'But I want you to try to deduce the location yourself. These walls have been touched by many centuries of magic… look for the signs.'

'What signs?' Harry queried, completely bemused. 'How do I look for them?'

Albus' smile only grew. 'Trust your instincts, Harry,' he encouraged. He nodded him toward the temple wall.

Feeling quite foolish, Harry stepped forward. He reached out a tentative hand and placed his palm on the stone. Despite the heat of the day, the rock was quite cool beneath his fingers. He looked back to Dumbledore curiously, but the headmaster merely watched in silence.

So Harry walked along the base, trailing his fingers over the stone. They caught occasionally where the rocks met or years of weather and wear had pitted the smooth blocks. Unsure what it was he was looking for, Harry walked all the way to the corner, where a beam of sunlight met his eyes. He turned back toward the headmaster and the shadows and shrugged.

'I don't understand, sir,' he admitted. 'I don't feel any odd breaks…'

Albus seemed to expect this also. He had followed Harry's gait a few paces behind. His eyes were still twinkling.

'You are looking for a physical hint,' he observed. 'But you have been a part of the Wizarding World long enough by now, Harry, to know you are unlikely to find one. There is no traceable outline of the archway to Diagon Alley, after all, or the entrance to Platform 9 ¾.'

Harry frowned. 'Okay…' he said slowly. 'But then, how –'

'You are searching with your eyes,' the headmaster went on. 'Feeling with your hand. You must feel with your _Magic_ , Harry, to locate the correct place. Use your own Magical Core.'

'My Core?' Harry repeated, doubtful.

'Trust your instincts,' Albus said again.

So again, Harry began to walk down the length of the temple, more slowly this time. He kept his hand on the stone, but tried to 'feel' through his fingers with that same part of himself that he used in wandless lessons with Snape… tried to sense a change in the smooth coolness of the rock. He shut his eyes to stop the temptation to use them. The walk was not entirely even, but he trusted that Dumbledore would not let him fall.

At last, about two-thirds of the way back down the base, Harry felt something. It was subtle… but there was a tingling sensation that registered not in his fingers, but in his chest. He pressed his left hand more firmly to the spot. The sensation increased.

'I… I think there's something here, Albus,' Harry said, opening his eyes.

The headmaster was smiling. 'Indeed there is,' he agreed. 'Well spotted, Harry.'

He stepped toward the base himself, and rested his hand over Harry's on the stone. He moved it slowly upward, and then to the side, and then down again… tracing what seemed to be a low archway in the blocks. The tingling followed their hands.

'You sense it?' he asked quietly.

'Yeah,' said Harry in amazement. Dumbledore nodded, and let Harry remove his hand.

'Congratulations,' he said. 'You have just successfully completed your first lesson of the summer.'

Harry stared, suddenly understanding. ' _This_ is what you meant?' he asked. 'This is… attuning to magic?'

Albus nodded. 'It is the beginnings of one method, yes,' he confirmed. 'I shall explain more on the subject when we are back at Hogwarts. But I am very impressed, Harry. You did well.'

He waved his own hand at the stone, muttering a low incantation. The blocks within the archway he and Harry had just traced vanished, leaving a gaping hole that led into a mist-shrouded tunnel.

'Come along,' Albus said, beckoning Harry with one arm. 'We best hurry. Madame Maxime is religiously punctual.'

Harry crept forward nervously, and he and Dumbledore made their way into the swirling mist.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter 3**

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! Mmm…yes, Voldemort is nasty. And things are even darker this next instalment, I fear. I _seriously_ debated just skipping the explanation because it turned my stomach just to write it… but, in the end, I felt that showing just how twisted and evil Voldemort truly is was necessary. I hope you like Chapter 4!

 **Blimey2310** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad you liked the chapter, and particularly that you're becoming team Severus, haha. Remus is much more mature than Severus in many ways… and he understands about terrible burdens. Snape, unfortunately, is not ready to see that and cannot move past their former enmity. Subconsciously, whatever he may say aloud or even tell himself, Severus is supremely bothered by his loneliness. Gellert Grindelwald is, perhaps, my favourite 'secondary' character. It is a struggle not to reveal too much of him too soon; but I hope readers will like how his story plays out. You _shouldn't_ know how to feel about him: he is the ultimate enigma. To answer your query… I had never seen Grindelwald utilised in any meaningful way in a HP-timeline Fanfiction before (although in the thousands of HP stories out there, it is certainly possible). However, I always found it curious that Jo left him alive and hidden away for so many years. Sure, the obvious, surface-layer explanation is that he was a convenient way to tie in the Dumbledore/Hallows narrative and the Elder Wand's journey… but JKR so rarely leaves things at the surface level. The idea for his introduction in Part I's 'The Forest Hides Many Secrets' literally came to me in bed one night, and the character sort of evolved in role and personality from there. I'm glad you're enjoying him! Hope you like Chapter 4!

 **ItsMagical** : Thank you for the heads up on the glitch! A couple of people had messaged me about this, and apparently it has been a site-wide problem. I tried to message everyone who had followed and/or favourited the story after I saw your review… hopefully the word got out. In any case, I'm very glad you're liking the series! Things are definitely getting a bit darker and a bit more complicated… but hopefully it will all read well. Enjoy Chapter 4!

 **Babascoop** : Thanks for reviewing! Yes… Beauxbâtons! Very excited to take that journey – I do hope you enjoy it, I had some fun fleshing out that unexplored part of the story. You're onto some of the right tracks with your theory on 'ultimate inquiry' – and Albus offered some insight in Chapter 3 too, of course… and yes, definitely related to the fact that the part of 'Harry' that has these dreams/visions is not _really_ Harry… or at least, Albus suspects (correctly) that it is the part of Voldemort that resides in Harry. The danger of enhancing the influence or 'waking' Voldemort in Harry's mind is indeed the danger in trying to obtain the memory via Legilimency or exhuming it for Pensieve view. Albus is loathe to attempt it – and he should be.

I too am excited for Year Four – so many new possibilities, and I hope I do the story (hers and mine) justice. I'm up to about a full bookshelf of collected notes, maps and drawn diagrams… And on Moody, we'll see a bit of him quite soon. Enjoy Chapter 4!

 **Me** (Guest Review): Thanks for your review! Yes, it's definitely going to be a bit scarier in places throughout this book than GOF canon necessarily was… I hope it will read well. Grindelwald is one of the most enigmatic characters out there. He's certainly a man of mixed motivations, and very, _very_ dangerous… but also with a potential to be quite helpful. Albus has much to navigate in this relationship. And it's true – in some ways he can be more frightening than Voldemort. He terrorised a continent, after all. As for your suggested conversation, I will definitely think about it! I can promise that Harry and Snape are not yet finished with what happened that night. Enjoy Chapter 4!

 **SPJaymo117** : Thanks for reading and for your reviews! Glad to see you're liking the new story so far! As to your inquiry – oh yes, there are _definitely_ plans for an eventual Harry/Grindelwald interaction. It probably will not happen this book… but it isn't too far off in the future. How and why that meeting comes about – and Albus' scruples about it – will definitely be explored this book. Hope you like the next instalment!

 **Undeniably Uzumaki** : Thank you for your review! Wow, so many things to address… I love it. You probably have guessed by now (from the title, even if you haven't yet read it), but Chapter Four sees the journey to Beauxbâtons. Interesting theory on Flamel. To be honest, I never really considered that he might still be alive – though I think your musings are plausible. I have, however, thought a great deal about Alchemy and its relation to Albus… and that is something which I suspect will crop up in the COH series (though probably not until Part IV or perhaps even Part V).

The visions… I'm not sure how much additional explanation would be wise to give, as the tenets of this connection will be explored pretty thoroughly by our characters. I will say that it's not really Harry's own mind which experiences these vision/dreams/observations… which is the reason Dumbledore does not wish to disturb them. Harry's conscious mind, meanwhile, does not capture every detail of what he sees because he is never _fully_ seeing it. What we witnessed in Chapter 1, for instance, was from Voldemort's perspective, not a full detail of Harry's dream. Harry's memory would be limited to whatever he observed, as all memories are limited to their host. As to why Harry did not inquire further about the connection right now… a few reasons. Most importantly – Harry's first reaction is that the visions could be useful. Then Albus states that it is a connection between himself and Lord Voldemort, forged the night of the curse, and that it could be dangerous. Harry's reaction there is highly important: he is revolted. I do not think, in that moment, he particularly _cares_ what the precise danger is. The danger is far less important to Harry than the pure disgust at the idea of sharing anything more with this creature of evil. He wishes only to stop the dreams, because the idea of a connection to Voldemort himself is disgusting to him and makes him feel tainted – much the way that having a connection to Slytherin's talent made him feel in Part I. He certainly will reach the questions you bring up, but this initial visceral reaction was all he processed here. We'll get to the rest of it.

Attuning to magic… stay tuned :). That gets its own chapter for explanation. But there have been many hints on this from both canon and my work. The bit in the horcrux cave in HBP is a great example, where Albus is able to recognise Tom's signature. Harry's instinctual abilities to feel dark and light magic are similarly hinted at, particularly in DH (e.g., when he can sense that the silver doe is not dangerous, but is some 'Dumbledoreish' magic). Albus notes in COH Part I, 'The Pensieve' that Harry can sense magical auras, and that this is a rare talent. It has cropped up in other places as well… for Harry, Albus and Voldemort (e.g., both Albus and Voldemort – at different moments – can sense Harry's aura _within_ Lily while she is pregnant with him). It is my belief that Harry's amazingly lucky 'instincts' are really manifestation of this skill. There's many intricate and complex branches to this explanation… but I'm going to leave it now until Albus can pick it up.

Nobody's putting off Horcruxes… with the possible exception of Albus on discussing his fears about Harry. But he and Gellert and Bill have all been researching and working on the issue. Keep in mind that they have very few leads, thus far. We'll see more progress on that front as the book continues. I won't explain precisely how the defences surrounding the tournament will work here – but that will be elaborated on shortly as well; ditto with Moody's position. The Cup will be interesting… though it is still a good ten or more chapters away, I expect. Harry will be allowed to attend, but we'll have to see just how much our characters know of Voldemort's relative strength by that point; and other… factors. I think you'll find it interesting. Whatever Harry knows – the reader will be uniquely well-informed about Voldemort's activities; which puts us in the unusual position of having more information than Albus, at times.

I hope you like Chapter 4!

 **Laura1996** : Thank you for reading and for your review! Very glad you're enjoying it. As for Minerva… I know, I miss her too. She'll be back in Chapter 5. In the meantime, I hope you like Chapter 4!

 **HMRoberts** : Hello again, and thanks for reviewing! Very happy you're liking the third book so far. The Albus/Gellert interaction at the end of Chapter 3 is, I think, the most insightful yet in terms of the undercurrent of their complex relationship. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and that it still surprised you: he's definitely a character who _should_ chill your blood. He has a big role to play yet. Your observations on Harry's interactions with the adults in his life are very true – he _is_ growing up; and they do (for the most part) recognise that… and navigating those new waters is something both Harry and his seniors will need to learn to do. Harry isn't as young or as naïve as he was at eleven – or even this time last year – and he isn't going to be satisfied by platitudes anymore. Oh Snape… yes, someone was not eager to share that he conned Harry into Legilimency before, with rather disastrous results. That's an awful story about your own school, by the way – how horrid that they'd let her do that! As for Snape… well, I do think his attitude toward Harry has changed in some _small_ part – though not often externally, and definitely not consistently. That bitterness is going to take a long, _long_ time to truly thaw… but I promise they'll be some satisfaction on that front before this series is out.

James and the twins are well. We are all settling into a more usual routine now that both mummy and daddy are working. I miss them terribly when I'm out for the day, but it makes it easier not to be resentful when they refuse to sleep through the night!

Hope you and your family are well, and that you like chapter four!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for reviewing! Mmm… yes, things are definitely going to rise to new heights of tension in this book. The Horcrux plot, of course, becoming a catalyst for much of that. I'll keep mum on Cedric for now. Perhaps you are right… but then, perhaps not? We shall see! ;) Enjoy Chapter Four!

 **Guest** : Thank you for your review! Very happy to hear you've discovered the series and that you are liking it so much thus far. Apologies for the delay between chapters three and four… balancing two-month-old twins and work and writing is harder than I had anticipated! But I promise I will never leave this story abandoned. I do encourage rereading, as there are little gems of information tucked away where you might least expect. But whether this is your first read through the COH series or your one-hundredth, I hope you will enjoy the continuation!


	5. In the Southern Part of France

**A/N:** As promised, here is Chapter Five! I hope you all enjoy 'In the Southern Part of France'! I will also provide a warning, as a reviewer had asked for this following the House-elf/Severus scene last chapter…

 **CAUTION:** The final section of _this_ chapter contains a very twisted scene – one which JKR actually cut from Goblet of Fire after she stated it made her editor ill. I apologise in advance for feeling the need to include it… but it is there all the same.

 **Please** **read and review**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

CHAPTER FIVE

 **In the Southern Part of France**

Harry supposed the archway had been some sort of portal. There had not been the pull of a portkey or the swirling rush of the Floo, but when Harry took his seventeenth step and the shimmering mist began to clear, he knew they had travelled many miles from Nîmes.

They were in a mountain range, but it could not be the same hills as those that had been in the distance before. These were much steeper, much higher – some of the jagged peaks hidden in a dense fog that looked bitter even in the midsummer. The air here was free of the salt of nearby sea, and far cooler.

Harry and Albus were in a valley of sorts, on the edge of what Harry assumed were the grounds of the school. But these were not at all like the slightly wild grounds of Hogwarts. These grounds, in contrast, were kept so immaculately even Aunt Petunia would have approved. Formal gardens stretched in all directions, with beautifully shaped hedgerows and flowers blooming in every colour from perfectly pruned trees and neat, symmetrical rows of beds. There were fountains playing at intervals along a wide central path toward a palace that seemed to be made more of glass than stone. The building was at least twice as large as Hogwarts… though perhaps this difference was more pronounced because it was somewhat shorter and far more uniform in height. Where Hogwarts' façade was smattered with turrets and battlements, the roof of Beauxbâtons was flat, topped with gilded ornaments and carved statues.

'Where _are_ we?' Harry asked in amazement, looking around at the high mountains.

'We are in the Pyrenees,' Albus replied with a smile. 'The exact location is unknown, except by the current headmistress and a few of the more senior staff. It is tradition to keep a magical school shrouded in utmost secrecy, so that nobody might steal secrets.'

Harry was about to retort that this seemed ridiculous… but he stopped when he realised that he himself would be hard-pressed to locate Hogwarts on a map of Scotland.

'Er – right,' he said instead to cover up his pause. 'So… all the students arrive through that portal, then?'

'Some,' Albus agreed. 'There are several points of entry, each with similar safeguards, located throughout France and western Europe. There is also an apparition point in Foix, from which students can be transported to the school by flying carriage… though that method has been discouraged in recent years due to increased Muggle holiday-makers.'

'Do _all_ the French wizarding students come here?' Harry asked curiously. 'They must have more than we do… this place has got to be twice Hogwarts' size.'

'Most magical students in France are educated here, yes,' Albus told him. 'Though – as in Britain – attendance is not required. Beauxbâtons also educates many students from Western Europe more generally. Their studentship is far larger than our own.'

He pulled a large golden pocket-watch from the folds of his robes and frowned at it a moment. 'She will know we have arrived,' he mused aloud. 'The portal sends an alert.'

Dumbledore began to move toward the palace. Harry had to jog a bit to keep pace this time. He wanted to stop and admire some of the more interesting plants in the gardens, but he could tell the headmaster was cutting it fine on time as it was. He could not help himself, however, as they came upon a beautiful golden fountain set at the top of the central garden, very near the foot of the steps to the school. The water in this fountain was almost silvery – or perhaps that was merely a reflection off the bottom of the pool. A handsome wizarding couple cut gilded figures in the centre of the fountain, surrounded by waist-high creatures Harry thought might be nymphs. The water seemed to be emanating from the golden nymphs' hands, bows and harps, dancing in happy streams into the pool below. The wizard and witch in the middle were slowly revolving on some sort of turning dais. Fascinated, Harry inched closer to read a little golden plaque set into the fountain's bench.

'Flamel,' Harry read off – the only word he could discern among what must have been a dedication in French. He shot Albus a curious look. 'That was your friend!' he exclaimed in surprise. 'Nicolas Flamel, the Alchemist who owned the Philosopher's Stone!'

Albus' eyes were twinkling again. 'It was indeed,' he confirmed. 'Nicolas and Perenelle attended the school: many years ago, when Beauxbâtons was still in her infancy. This is where they met. Both were among the most distinguished of Beauxbâtons alumni, and they continued to support the school throughout their lives. Perenelle actually taught at the school in the early eighteenth century. The fountain is dedicated to their legacy. Legend among the students is that the waters from the fountain contain healing and beautifying properties.'

'What exactly –'

'Ah – Dumbledore!'

Harry stopped speaking, as a wizard came striding down the steps to meet them. He had almost surgically parted hair, a thin, straight moustache, and eyes that were both haunted and hard. Behind him trotted a second wizard, who could not have been more different in appearance. He had a ruddy complexion, blond hair and a slightly round belly, which jiggled a bit as he bounded down the steps. Where the first man looked stern, perhaps even irritated; the second was almost bursting with clear excitement.

Both stopped short as Dumbledore turned, revealing Harry behind him.

'You did not mention you were bringing a child,' the moustached wizard said, looking disapproving. Harry bristled a bit at the diminutive. 'In any case, you'd best make haste – Olympe and Igor are already –'

'But – Barty, old man!' the excitable wizard interrupted. 'This… galloping gargoyles, this is _Harry Potter_!'

Harry cringed as both men stared. He fought the impulse to flatten his unruly hair… not that it would do any good at this point. Both men's eyes had already performed the familiar flick to his scar.

'Harry,' Albus said, putting a hand on his shoulder to make the introductions. 'This is Bartemius Crouch,' he indicating the stern man, 'Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the Ministry. And this is Ludovic Bagman,' he gestured to the second man, 'Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Barty, Ludo, this is Harry Potter.'

Harry shook hands with both men: or, rather, clasped hands briefly with Mr Crouch and had his arm wrung and back clapped by Mr Bagman. Albus kept a firm hand on his shoulder.

'Why have you brought the boy, Albus?' Crouch asked with a frown. 'You know the students are not supposed to know…'

'Harry is under my protection,' Dumbledore said. 'He cannot stay at his relatives' home at the moment and – as you know – the hunt for Sirius Black continues. I have no intention of his attending our meeting, Barty, but I would not leave him unprotected whilst I am out of the country.'

This explanation appeared to satisfy Bagman, though Crouch continued to frown. He sniffed, checking his own timepiece.

'We ought to get a move on,' he decided, stowing it again. 'The others are awaiting us inside. You have the minutes from your meeting with Fudge, Ludo?'

Bagman's face crumpled slightly. 'Knew there was something,' he muttered, slapping a hand to his cheek. 'Should've had Bertha collect them before she left on holiday.'

Crouch looked thunderous, but Albus stepped in. 'No matter,' he assured them. 'Cornelius sent a few notes for discussion early yesterday.'

His eyes were shining in a way that suggested to Harry that perhaps this sort of lapse in diligence was expected of Ludo Bagman.

The four of them started up the steps to the school – Crouch murmuring in a low voice to Albus while Ludo Bagman chattered to Harry about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, for which he was, apparently, serving as commentator in addition to coordinating the final. Harry only half-listened. While he _was_ very excited about the Quidditch World Cup and Bagman seemed a likable enough sort of man… he was far more preoccupied with what Crouch had said.

What was it that he was not supposed to hear?

Come to think of it, why were these men here at all? Albus had not mentioned meeting with anyone other than the French headmistress. Clearly, whatever this rendezvous was about involved more than just a catch-up between old friends.

High above the entrance, Harry could see a coat of arms with two crossed golden wands glinting in the sunlight. As they passed beneath and through the doors, the wands sent out showers of sparkling golden stars.

They crossed the threshold into a marble foyer, and then hurried across that into a stately hall. The massive room was adorned with several enormous crystal chandeliers, lined with gilded fireplaces, and occupied in the main by six very long wooden tables. A seventh, slightly smaller but far grander in style, was placed at the top of the long chamber. Harry guessed this was the Beauxbâtons version of Hogwarts' Great Hall.

'You're late, Dumbledore,' a curt voice called out.

Two people were already seated at the high table. On one end was a man with a swarthy face, chin length hair of black that was fading to silver and a curling, grey goatee. On the opposite end sat a woman so huge, Harry could not help his stare. She had to be as tall as Hagrid, and just as wide. Where Hagrid was always looking a bit unkempt, however, this woman was nothing short of elegant. She had thick, dark hair pulled back in a sleek knot, handsome olive skin, and wore pearls thick as eggs with her sweeping robes of lilac. Harry knew immediately this was the headmistress of the school, even without reference to her place at the head of the table.

It was the man who had spoken – in a thick accent, though Harry did not think it French. His eyes were as blue as Dumbledore's, but they had none of the headmaster's warmth. Instead, Harry felt as though he were gazing into chips of ice as the man's eyes came to rest on him. He was smiling, but in an almost predatory way. Harry got the immediate impression that this was a man to be wary of.

'Dumbly-dorr,' the magnificent woman greeted in a low, purring voice. She rose from her ornate chair and swept toward them, while the cold-eyed man skulked in her wake.

'And 'oo is zis?' the woman asked, eyeing Harry. But before Dumbledore could answer, her eyes widened. 'Zis is surely Ze Boy 'Oo Lived,' she said. 'Zis is 'Arry Potter, Dumbly-dorr!'

'Harry Potter?' the goateed man repeated. His gaze snapped to Harry's forehead. Unlike the two Ministry employees' earlier curiosity, his expression was distinctly angry. 'What is the meaning of this, Dumbledore?' the man demanded. His smile grew into a leer as he locked eyes with the headmaster. 'Students are not to be informed –'

'Ah, Igor, it's just _one_ student,' Bagman said in a placating tone. 'And after all, Harry Potter, you know…'

'Yes, thank you, Ludo,' Crouch interrupted. 'Dumbledore has already given assurance, Karkaroff, that Potter will not be privy to today's discussions. He will merely be a guest at the school while Dumbledore remains for the meeting. So, if we might continue…'

Karkaroff's eyes flashed, but Madame Maxime spoke again.

'Karkaroff,' she said in her low, smooth voice. 'It is fine. 'Arry can spend ze day with some of my own students. And after all, even if he were to 'ear somezing, 'e is but a boy! 'E is too young to compete… zair could be no advantage to 'Ogwarts.'

'Quite so,' Dumbledore agreed, his hand on Harry's shoulder again. 'Harry, this is Madame Olympe Maxime, headmistress of Beauxbâtons Academy of Magic, and Igor Karkaroff, Head of Durmstrang Institute.'

'Er… hello,' said Harry, a bit nervously. Madame Maxime smiled at him, but Karkaroff just continued to glare.

'I shall call for my students,' Madame Maxime offered. 'And zen, I think, we should get started, Dumbly-dorr. Unless we are waiting for your Minister?'

'Fudge won't be joining today,' Crouch said stiffly. 'He has other business in London.'

Madame Maxime inclined her head, and clapped her hands once together. A little House-elf in a frilly pinny appeared, nose bent low to the floor at Madame Maxime's feet. The headmistress gave the elf instructions in rapid French. The elf squeaked a reply and, with a crack, disappeared again.

'There are students at the school in the summer?' Harry asked, turning to Dumbledore. 'They don't have holiday?'

It was Madame Maxime who replied. 'Our students are on 'oliday in July and August, just as at 'Ogwarts,' she informed Harry. 'But zair are a few 'oo do not 'ave 'omes to return to while the school is at break. Zey remain at Beauxbâtons throughout ze year.'

Harry nodded, quite intrigued. This was what he had always wished would be the case at Hogwarts… though, until Dumbledore made it so for him, he'd never heard of another pupil being allowed to remain in the castle over the holiday. Things obviously worked differently at the French school.

'Madame Directrice.'

Harry turned. The doors to the hall had opened again, and five students entered the room: three girls and two boys of varying ages. The tallest, a young woman with long dark hair and eyes, was the speaker. She led her fellow pupils up to the high table, where all bowed and curtsied formally to Madame Maxime and her guests. All five wore robes of a very pale blue, even though school was not in term. Harry felt suddenly rather underdressed in his own casual clothing.

'Vous nous avez envoyé, Madame?' the girl inquired.

'Oui,' Madame Maxime replied. 'Le professeur Dumbledore a amené un étudiant avec lui au palais,' she said, indicating Harry with a bejewelled hand. 'Ce sera une réunion confidentielle. J'aimerais que vous preniez le garçon avec vous pour le jour.'

The girl looked curiously at Harry. 'Bien sûr, Madame,' she replied. 'Nous serions heureux de le faire.'

She smiled at Harry.

'I am Céleste,' she introduced herself in lilting English. 'Zis is Tanguy, Vivienne, Jan and Sofia,' she added, gesturing to each of the other students in turn.

'Harry Potter,' said Harry.

The girl's eyes widened, and the youngest of the five tittered excitedly in French to one of the boys.

''Arry Potter,' Céleste repeated eagerly. 'Le Survivant – the Boy Who Lived!'

'Yeah,' Harry admitted, feeling hot about the ears again.

'Céleste, allez dehors, s'il vous plaît,' Madame Maxime encouraged. The girl gave a quick nod.

'Would you like to go into ze grounds?' she asked Harry politely. 'Zere are many gardens at Beauxbâtons.'

'Er… alright,' said Harry tentatively.

He looked back to Dumbledore, who nodded. 'I assume the portals into the grounds are closed?' the headmaster asked, addressing Madame Maxime again.

'Of course,' the headmistress assured with a nod. 'Zey will be perfectly safe in ze grounds.'

Dumbledore inclined his head. 'You may go,' he told Harry. 'But please, stay within sight of the school.'

Harry agreed, and left the hall with this strange group of students. All were giving him curious glances now, and the two older boys were talking quietly as they strode through the entrance hall.

'Are you really Le Survivant?' asked the tiniest girl, who Harry thought was named Sofia, just as they reached the front doors. Her accent was different from Céleste's, and Harry thought she could not be much more than eleven or twelve.

'Yes,' he admitted again, a bit self-consciously.

'Par la baguette de Circé!' the girl exclaimed. 'Do you remember what he looks like? Vous-Savez-Qui?'

'Sofia! Il n'est pas poli de poser de telles questions,' the oldest looking boy, Jan, chastised. 'Apologies,' he said to Harry in English. 'Sofia is not yet twelve. Sometimes she speaks before she thinks.'

'It's alright,' Harry reassured him. 'I've been asked before.'

He did not, however, answer the query. He was not sure that Madame Maxime would thank him for giving her young charge nightmares.

The girl mumbled an apology, her cheeks a rosy pink.

'All of you stay at school in the summer?' Harry asked. He was still curious how this arrangement worked.

'Yes,' Céleste confirmed. 'Well, nearly ze 'ole summer at any rate. Jan sees his parents for a week or so just before ze term every year. Zey are Dutch, but living in South America doing work for ze International Confederation on some secret assignment,' she explained. She gave a sad smile. 'Ze rest of us are orphans, as you are.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry quietly. He felt a sort of kinship with this group. He didn't know anyone at Hogwarts without any real family to go back to. Even Neville, though raised by his grandmother, at least had family who loved him at home.

'Are – are all of you French?' Harry asked after a moment. 'Apart from Jan?'

The little girl, Sofia, laughed again. Céleste smiled. 'Vivienne and I are sisters,' she said. 'And we are from Nice. Tanguy is from Caen in ze north, and Sofia is Spanish by birth.'

'Oh,' said Harry, understanding now why the little one's accent sounded somewhat different from the other girl's.

They had made their way well into the grounds at this point, and had reached what seemed to be a rose garden. The rainbow of colours bursting their beds reminded Harry of the many roses his mother had planted at the cottage in Godric's Hollow. He smiled as he admired them.

'Do you always stay at your school in ze summer?' Vivienne inquired. She, of the five, appeared to be around Harry's age. He would guess that Tanguy, Céleste and Jan were all sixteen or seventeen years. She was very pretty, with thick auburn hair that fell in loose ringlets down her back and huge, deep blue eyes. Her English was not as confident as her sister's, and he wondered if her delay in speaking was a product of self-consciousness. He did not judge her for it, for he could speak not a word of French.

'Not always,' Harry told her. 'I lived for ten years or so with my aunt and uncle and cousin – after my parents died, until I went to Hogwarts. I still go back for a bit every summer. But the last few years, Dumbledore's let me spend the rest of the holidays at the school. It's much better, really.'

'Why?' Sofia queried. 'If _I_ had someone to go back to, _I_ wouldn't want to stay at school for ze summer.'

Harry pulled awkwardly at his shirt collar. 'We… well, we don't really get on,' he admitted. 'They don't like m – er… they don't like magic, much. Everyone's a lot happier if I'm at Hogwarts.'

Céleste and Tanguy exchanged a look, but did not comment.

'Do you take lessons and such, while the school's away?' Harry asked, hoping to get off the sticky subject.

'A bit,' Jan answered. 'Not Sofia or Vivienne, yet… but the three of us meet twice a week with the headmistress for tutorials.'

'What is your headmistress like?' Harry asked. He had been very interested to see the deference with which all the Beauxbâtons students seemed to treat Madame Maxime. While the pupils at Hogwarts revered Dumbledore, and certainly respected him, there was none of the formality with their headmaster that the French headmistress's presence seemed to demand. He wondered if perhaps she was a stricter head of school than Albus was, or a particularly stern disciplinarian.

'Madame Maxime is wonderful,' Vivienne said ardently. 'Very gifted, and very kind. She dines with us every evening, and sometimes she takes us out of ze grounds on day trips or 'olidays. We will be going to Britain, actually, in August,' she told Harry. 'For the final of ze Quidditch World Cup.'

Harry grinned. 'Really?' he asked eagerly. 'I'm going as well. Or, at least, I think I am. My friend Ron's dad works for the Ministry – and he said he could get us tickets.'

'Perhaps we will see you zair,' Vivienne offered with a smile.

'Yeah,' Harry said brightly. 'Yeah… maybe!'

'Do you play Quidditch at all?' Sofia put in, jogging a bit to catch up to them.

'Yeah, I do,' said Harry.

'Me too,' the little girl said. ' _I'm_ a Beater. Or I will be, zis term.'

'You're too tiny to be a Beater,' Jan disagreed teasingly, shaking his head.

The girl bristled at once. 'Am not!' she retorted. 'I knocked _you_ off your broom only last week.'

She turned back to Harry with her nose in the air. 'What position do you play?'

'Seeker,' Harry told her. 'I've been on the Gryffindor team – that's my House – since first year,' he confessed… bragging just a little bit.

Tanguy grinned. 'Have you really?' he asked keenly. 'Care for a friendly? Zair is a pitch just on ze ah-zer side of zat hill, and zey keep a few brooms about…'

'Brilliant!' Harry agreed. 'Let's have a go.'

They played at Quidditch for several hours. Around midday, the same House-elf that had approached them in the grand hall returned with a basket full of luncheon and a thick blanket to spread on the grass. Harry assumed this meant they were supposed to eat outside, and that the others were still in whatever meeting they were having. All six of them flopped down onto the blanket gratefully, hot and sweaty from flying about in the heat. Harry accepted a crêpe from the House-elf and took a bite. It was delicious.

'Do you know what it is they're meeting about?' Harry asked, after he'd washed down the crêpe with some sort of fizzy, slightly sweet drink.

The Beauxbâtons students all exchanged looks.

'What?' Harry wheedled.

'We aren't _really_ supposed to know,' Sofia whispered conspiratorially. 'But we do.'

'It is rather 'ard not to,' Tanguy told him. 'Living at ze school, and all.'

'What is it?' Harry pressed, even more eagerly.

'Ze Triwizard Tournament,' said Vivienne.

Harry wondered if this was supposed to mean something to him… but he did not think he had ever heard the phrase before. The others all nodded, but he merely stared.

'Er… I don't know what that is,' Harry admitted at last.

Vivienne smiled. 'Perhaps you 'ave not studied zis in your 'istory lessons yet,' she said. 'Ze Triwizard Tournament is a competition zat used to be 'eld every five years between ze three largest European schools of magic: Beauxbâtons, Durmstrang and 'Ogwarts. Zey discontinued zis in 1792 because injuries were made to ze champions and watchers… zey were feeling it was too dangerous to continue.'

'But ze are bringing it back,' Tanguy picked up. 'Zis year. Ze 'eads of school 'ave been working on it for months, and your Ministry. Zis tournament is set to be held at Hogwarts.'

'Really?' asked Harry – shocked that he'd never got wind of this scheme before. 'What sort of tournament is it?'

'A series of magical tasks,' said Céleste. 'Zair are three, traditionally, spread throughout ze year. One champion from each school is selected to compete, so zair are three competitors in total.'

'That explains the name,' Harry noted. 'What tasks do they have to compete in?'

Jan shook his head. 'Even we haven't managed to learn that,' he said. 'And it's different every time. There's usually at least one that involves some sort of creature… but that's about all we know. They're supposed to be magical tasks that test different strengths. Magical talent, of course, courage, a cool head under pressure… that sort of thing. There's a lot of skill involved, and the tasks are supposed to be very dangerous. That's why they put in the restriction this time.'

'What restriction?' asked Harry.

'You can not compete unless you are at least seventeen,' Céleste explained.

'Oh,' said Harry. 'Well, that makes sense. But why use a restriction at all? The heads of school will choose their champions, surely. And wouldn't they always choose an older student – someone who knew more magic?'

Tanguy shook his head. 'It is not the 'eads of ze schools who decide,' he told Harry. 'Zair is some sort of system – an impartial judge zat makes ze decision. For Durmstrang and Beauxbâtons, because we are ze visiting schools, Madame Maxime and Karkaroff will bring a short-listed selection of students to 'Ogwarts, all of 'oom will be of age. I am not sure whey-zair your 'eadmaster will make a similar culling… usually anyone from ze 'ome school can enter zair names for consideration.'

'Will you be coming?'

Tanguy shook his head. 'Not me, no,' he said. 'I will not be of age. Céleste and Jan might, if zey are selected by ze 'eadmistress. She will not make 'er final decisions until September.'

'It's a long way to travel for competition,' Harry observed.

'Zey will only travel ze once,' said Céleste. 'All ze students – even ze ones 'oo are not selected as champions, will stay to support zair school in ze tournament. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff will remain to judge on ze panel. Ze 'eads of school always do. Zey too will stay at 'Ogwarts for ze year.'

'Oh,' Harry said again. He felt a little less sanguine about this. Madame Maxime seemed alright, but there was something decidedly unpleasant about the Durmstrang headmaster.

'One more round, before we head in?' Jan suggested, holding up his broom as the remnants of their luncheon vanished.

Harry jumped eagerly to his feet, and the others hurried up to join. Still thinking about the tournament and the international schools, Harry kicked off the ground.

Several hours later, the little group of students made their way back through the magnificent gardens and into the school. Harry was windswept and slightly muddy – and the back of his neck still felt hot from where the strong French sun had beat on it for several hours – but he had enjoyed his day immensely. He turned automatically for the doors to the hall where they had left their respective heads of school that morning, but Vivienne put a hand on his arm. He halted, looking curiously at her.

'What is it?'

'We ought to clean up first,' she told him. 'Madame Maxime will not like it if we turn up to tea in zis state.'

'Er… alright,' Harry agreed, looking down at the green and brown stains on his trousers. 'But… I haven't brought anything to change into,' he admitted.

'No matter,' Tanguy assured him. 'You can bathe in our dormitory, if you like. Jan is pretty good with cleaning charms. 'E can take care of your clothes for you, or you could borrow robes, if you like.'

'Er – these are fine,' said Harry quickly, not wanting to put anyone out.

The six of them trudged up the grand staircase to the first floor. Harry followed the boys to the left, while the girls made their way down the long corridor to the right. Half an hour later, they joined up again at the top of the stairs. Harry thought everyone smelled vaguely of lavender from the fancy soaps of the Beauxbâtons bathrooms.

'I hope you have all enjoyed yourselves,' Dumbledore greeted them, smiling as the students filed into the hall.

The two Ministry employees appeared to have left. The three heads of school sat at the high table, each drinking some sort of sparkling wine. The students all muttered greetings, and went to join the table. Madame Maxime waved a hand, and several bottles of that same fizzy water appeared before them. Harry thought the sweet taste might be pear. He didn't much care for it – he would have preferred his usual pumpkin juice. He was so thirsty from the day of sun and exercise, however, that he drained three glasses without pause.

'We shall head back after tea,' Dumbledore said quietly to Harry. Madame Maxime was engaged in conversation with the little Sofia, who was jabbering away at her ear in rapid French. The older Beauxbâtons students were alternatively chatting and eating, and Karkaroff – seated slightly apart from the group on his own at the opposite end, was sipping away at his wine in silence, calculated eyes sweeping the group.

'Alright,' Harry agreed.

'Did you enjoy yourself?' Albus asked, twinkling at him. Harry thought the headmaster's eyes darted briefly toward the pretty young girl Harry's age, and he blushed slightly.

'Very much,' he said, determinedly not looking at Vivienne. 'The grounds were beautiful.'

'Indeed,' the headmaster said, his eyes still dancing with suppressed mirth.

'I learned a few _interesting_ things,' Harry said pointedly. 'The others have been overhearing certain things…'

'Ah, well then I am sure you have questions,' Dumbledore acknowledged with a knowing smile.

'A few,' Harry said.

'I had suspected,' Albus sighed. 'And I shall explain more fully when we have left our hosts.'

It was a rather long tea, and the sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Dumbledore at last took their leave. Madame Maxime saw them to the door (Karkaroff had slunk away nearly an hour before). She and Albus exchanged a goodbye that Harry could not understand, and then she turned to him.

'It was good to meet you, Mr Potter,' she told him with a smile. 'I expect we shall see each other quite soon.'

Harry inclined his head politely. 'It was lovely to meet you, ma'am,' he said. 'Thank you for letting me stay.'

She waved in careless acknowledgement, nodded to Dumbledore again, and the headmaster led Harry away with a hand on his shoulder.

'You never mentioned the tournament,' Harry whispered as soon as he and Albus were out of earshot of the main entrance. 'Why not?'

The headmaster winked. 'Students are not to know about the Triwizard Tournament,' he reminded Harry quietly.

'You knew they'd tell me,' Harry accused, though he was smiling. 'The other students. They all knew what was going on.'

'Alas, it has never been easy to keep secrets from Magical youth,' Dumbledore agreed. 'That seems an international tradition.'

Harry groaned. 'Albus…'

Dumbledore chuckled. 'It was only _I_ who was forbidden to say anything,' he said. 'What you may find out from… others… is not something I could reasonably avoid.'

They had reached the portal. Dumbledore led Harry through it, and they found themselves back on the darkening streets of Nîmes.

'So, the tournament will be played at Hogwarts this year?' Harry asked, as Dumbledore guided them back up the cobblestone street toward the point at which they had originally apparated.

'Yes. It has been quite a trying undertaking, but I think all our students will enjoy it.'

He didn't take Harry all the way out of the city this time, but instead pulled him into a darkened alley once they had got outside the general kerfuffle of the city centre.

'Just here will be fine, Harry,' he said, once the shadows of the alleyway and the blackening night had hidden them from any curious eyes. 'Take my arm.'

Harry obeyed, and felt Dumbledore turn them into nothingness again.

The clifftop where the portkey station lay was almost black in the falling night. The sea had become a gaping abyss – just a few smattered stars reflected on its glassy surface. Dumbledore seemed as keen to get back to Hogwarts as he had been concerned with their time on arrival, and he steered Harry toward the portkey office, where he made his request in French to the stout attendant. He returned with a battered old top hat. Harry copped hold, and found himself yanked back to Calais by his navel.

Some half an hour later, Harry and Albus let go of their second portkey (a withered-looking brolly) and started back up the high street of Hogsmeade. The night was even darker, now that they had travelled so much farther north, and cloud cover obscured the stars. Harry and Dumbledore both lit their wands to see the path as they walked toward the school.

'We could see Aberforth for supper?' Harry suggested. The barman's pub was rowdy – they could hear the crowd all the way down the street. It sounded like a good time.

Albus shook his head. 'Not tonight, I think,' he said. 'It is late already, and the Hog's Head attracts rather a shady cast of characters this time of night.'

Harry shrugged. He hadn't really expected the headmaster to agree.

'We can go later in the week,' Dumbledore compromised. 'When I have had a chance to forewarn him.'

They walked on in companionable silence for a time, watching the castle loom closer. Harry shivered. He'd grown used to the balmy warmth of France, and the return to the much cooler air of Scotland made him feel as though he had been dipped in icy water.

'A balm on the sunburn should help,' Albus told him gently, as they started up the steps to the school and Harry shivered yet again.

'I'm not burned,' said Harry stubbornly.

Albus set a hand on the back of his neck. It felt blissfully cool. 'Maybe a bit,' he admitted with a scowl.

The headmaster chuckled. 'I should, perhaps, have given you a preventative,' he mused. 'But it is no matter. I have something upstairs that will sort it in a trice.'

The castle was silent as they entered. Mrs Norris crept along the base of the staircase, vigilant in her prowl even while most of the usual troublemakers were absent. She gave Harry a mistrustful look as he and Dumbledore approached, but did not do more than flick her tail disapprovingly in their direction as they started their climb.

At last, they were in the familiar circular study once again, with its fire blazing merrily in the hearth and a delicious looking supper set out on the low table. Harry's stomach growled appreciatively; it felt like days already since their tea in France.

'Go and wash up a bit before we eat,' Dumbledore suggested. 'And I shall find a balm for your neck.'

Harry would rather have started right away on the food, but he followed Albus' advice – hurrying up the stairs to scrub his face and hands. The headmaster met him in the corridor, holding a small bottle of some thick orange paste. He daubed a quid-sized amount on the back of Harry's neck and shoulders, and the discomfort and chill faded at once.

'Thanks,' Harry said gratefully.

Dumbledore pressed a second bottle, this one a light blue, into his hands. 'The sun is not quite as strong in Britain,' he said. 'But you should still apply this for a few days, at least, if you are going to be out in the grounds. Newly healed skin can be sensitive.'

'Right,' Harry agreed. He pocketed the bottle, just as his stomach growled again.

Albus smiled. 'Supper,' he said, nodding Harry toward the staircase.

He did not need to be told twice.

'Are you going to tell me about the Triwizard Tournament?' Harry asked, when at last he felt sated with roast chicken and buttered peas.

'I shall tell you a bit,' Dumbledore agreed. 'But I don't want to spoil the surprise for you, either. Students from Durmstrang and Beauxbâtons will arrive in October, and the champions will be chosen at the Hallowe'en feast. The tasks are set to occur throughout the year: the first in November, the second in February and the third in June. One champion shall compete for each school, and the winner of the tournament shall be determined at the conclusion of the third task.'

'Who chooses the champions?' Harry asked eagerly. But Dumbledore pursed his lips.

'That one I shall not answer,' he declined with a wink. 'It is one of the more spectacular traditions of the tournament.'

Harry scowled, but he knew better than to try and press it. He refilled his pumpkin juice, happy to have left the sweet fizzy water in France.

'What about the judging?' he asked instead. 'The French students said the heads of school are on the panel. But wouldn't they just pick whoever competes for their school?'

Albus gave him a stern look. 'I should like to think all three of us beyond petty favouritism,' he said.

Harry hid his snort with some difficulty. Dumbledore, perhaps… and he didn't know Madame Maxime well enough to be sure. But already he could tell the Durmstrang headmaster was a nasty sort.

'But there are five on the traditional panel,' Albus continued. 'In addition to the heads of school, two members of the home government serve as judges. You met both at Beauxbâtons today.'

The headmaster clapped his hands over the table. The remnants of supper vanished and two healthy portions of treacle tart popped up in their place. Harry dug in eagerly. As he chewed and thought back on his conversation with the foreign students, however, another thing he'd meant to inquire about occurred to him.

'Why doesn't Hogwarts let students stay at the castle over the summer?' he asked curiously, frowning a bit over his forkful of pudding. 'Other than me, I mean. It sounds like Beauxbâtons does it all the time.'

Albus looked a bit sad. 'A kindness for which Olympe is to be commended,' he said softly. 'She herself comes from a difficult background. Her mother was never in the picture and her father died quite young. Olympe and her twin brother were largely on their own after that. Since becoming headmistress at the school, she has made great strides to assure no student under her care is left in a similar situation.'

'But why can't Hogwarts do the same?' Harry asked. 'There must have been others… before me, I mean. Even Voldemort…'

He trailed off. He did not like to think of the similarities between himself and Tom Riddle.

'There have been others, yes,' the headmaster admitted. 'There are others even now. The war made orphans of several children; and tragedy, of course, is not limited to times of war. But the Beauxbâtons governance rests almost entirely with the headmistress and several senior members of staff who are given voting rights in a sort of intra-school government. They maintain a board of trustees, but its role is financial only. At Hogwarts, on the other hand, certain powers rest with the Board of Governors. The headmaster or headmistress has sole power to expel or admit students, can close the school in emergency, maintains control over the warding of the castle, makes staffing choices, is privy to the secrets of his or her office and conducts nearly all Hogwarts' business on the day to day. The Board of Governors, however, may remove the headmaster or headmistress by unanimous vote. They also determine the dates for start and close of term, and it is their ancient decree which makes it impermissible for students to remain in residence over the summer holidays. Exceptions have been made a handful of times over the centuries, at the request of the headmaster or headmistress of the time, or on occasion by a student's Head of House. I would myself make such a request if I found there was a need to do so. Fortunately, even our current orphaned students are not without a place to go, and I have never yet had to make such application since I became headmaster.'

'Except for me?' Harry guessed.

'No,' Albus said softly. 'For you, Harry, I did not have a need to do so. Nor would I have done even if that were not the case.'

Harry furrowed his brow. 'What do you mean?'

Dumbledore refilled his wine. He swirled the goblet gently between his long fingers, looking pensive.

'You know, now, that having the Dursleys' house to return to has provided you with powerful protection,' he said. 'We kept your location hidden at the time of your parents' deaths, and have striven to keep it so in the years since. Like many secrets of the Wizarding World, however, the information has leaked out over time. I could not say if Lord Voldemort is yet aware of where you reside, though I do not doubt it… but I am certain those who were once in his service are privy to the knowledge.'

He paused, sipping at the wine. Harry still did not understand, but he waited for the headmaster to continue.

'It is many years, now, since Voldemort fell from power,' Albus went on. 'But as you know, he is constantly seeking to return. Even while he remains weakened there are those who pose a danger to you. I did not think it wise to parade the fact that you were removed from your place of protection, even to Hogwarts.'

'But… but _you're_ here,' Harry pointed out. 'I mean, everyone says you're the only wizard Voldemort was ever afraid of.'

Albus gave a small smile, but his eyes were terribly sad. 'I am not the only one he ever feared, Harry,' he said softly. 'Animosity, wariness, even begrudging respect for a rival's magical skill… that is not fear. Fear is a very individual emotion, yet a universal one. We fear knowledge and hard truths. We fear weakness or failure. Voldemort fears Death. But he does not fear it at my hand.'

Harry did not agree, and opened his mouth to tell Dumbledore so, but the headmaster sighed deeply. 'In any case,' he went on, before Harry could speak, 'We have already seen that Hogwarts' protections are not fool-proof. Even in your first week at the castle, you were subjected to assault by an unknown enemy. You do remember?'

'The rock,' Harry recalled suddenly. It seemed so long ago. 'The poisoning…'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'A mystery that remains unsolved. In any case, I determined it was for the best not to broadcast that you were living at the castle. While I do think you are safer at Hogwarts than anywhere else in the magical world, it is unwise to invite temptation. Most beyond our staff who have noticed I have taken an interest in you assume I have done so solely because you are the Boy Who Lived… an assumption I have almost always allowed to stand. There is never so convenient a way to hide a truth as with the allowance of rumour. People are always most eager to believe what they themselves have contrived to be true.'

'Alright,' Harry agreed. It did, at least, explain why Albus and Minerva had always insisted he not discuss his arrangement with anyone other than the Weasleys and Hermione. 'But… what did you mean before, that you didn't have to ask them anyway? Why not?'

'Because of your parents' will,' the headmaster said. 'Sirius Black was named your godfather at your christening. He was also named your guardian in James and Lily's will, should anything happen to them. Law requires, however, that a second person be named in the event the first guardian predeceases the parents, or something occurs which makes the fulfilment of his or her role impossible. I was the second person named by Lily and James, and responsibility for you fell legally to myself when they died and Sirius was imprisoned.'

Harry felt odd. He supposed it did not really make much of a difference, but their relationship felt so much more formalised, all of a sudden. A part of him felt a swoop of happiness that his parents had planned it this way… that Dumbledore had been their own intention, all along; after Sirius, of course. And yet, another part of him felt a familiar pang of abandonment…

'But you gave me up too,' he accused quietly. 'You left me at Privet Drive instead…'

Albus' eyes were watery. He grimaced at the words. 'You know why, Harry,' he reminded him softly. 'You know it was not because I wished to do so; or because I would not wish to raise you myself. I would have insisted on your going to Petunia Dursley even if Sirius had taken guardianship of you. I had to give you your best chance.'

Harry did know. But it did not entirely ease his hurt. He could feel Albus' gaze on him, but he did not meet it.

'So what does that mean?' he mumbled after a moment, watching his pumpkin juice instead of Dumbledore's eyes.

Albus cleared his throat. 'I ceded physical custody to Petunia Dursley,' he said. 'She had to become your guardian – to take you into her home – in order to seal the protection charm. She is aware of this fact. I left an explanation for her the night I brought you to her doorstep. But as far as the Ministry of Magic is concerned, I maintain a measure of guardianship… particularly while you are in the magical world. I am to be informed, for instance, if you are given a citation for underage use of magic, or if you were perhaps injured outside of Hogwarts and taken to St Mungo's hospital. Until you come of age and choose to designate another, I would be the one to make decisions for you if you were incapacitated and unable to make choices for yourself. And neither the Ministry nor the Board of Governors would have any right to remove you from Hogwarts, if I have permitted your residence. The children and wards of staff members are not forbidden by the ancient rule.'

'Oh,' said Harry, somewhat lamely.

Albus leaned over, squeezing Harry's knee. Harry looked up.

'I should, perhaps, have told you sooner,' Albus apologised. 'I am sorry if it has upset you.'

He was still looking slightly watery-eyed, and Harry felt a little guilty. 'It doesn't upset me,' he said quickly. 'Really. I'm _glad_ that my mum and dad set it up that way. It's just a bit… surprising.'

'Is it?' Albus asked, raising an eyebrow. 'I would have thought you had worked most of it out on your own, given the circumstances of the last few years.'

Harry snorted. 'You're Albus Dumbledore,' he said with a roll of his eyes. 'I just reckoned… well, you make things happen, if you want to.'

Albus chuckled, taking his hand back from Harry's knee. 'Somehow, people always _do_ seem to jump to that conclusion.'

Harry grinned. 'Well anyway,' he said, shrugging. 'It isn't as though it makes much of a difference. But…' He trailed off, his smile fading a bit as he tried to formulate his thought. 'It doesn't make a difference,' he repeated. 'And yet it still…'

'Makes all the difference in the world,' Albus guessed, perfectly finishing the thought for him.

'Yes,' Harry agreed.

Dumbledore smiled, trailing his knuckles once down Harry's cheek. A clock on the mantle chimed.

'We ought to get to bed,' the headmaster said, sparing the clock a glance. 'It has been a long day for us both.'

Harry nodded, popping up off the sofa. He was unsurprised that his head and feet both felt heavy from the day. He bid Dumbledore a good evening, and set off for the winding staircase as the headmaster began to douse the lights in the study.

'And Harry,' Albus added, just as Harry reached the foot of the stairs. Harry turned. 'Do not forget your Occlumency tonight.'

'I won't,' Harry promised. He waved a hand, and began to pull himself up the stairs for bed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The child had been unconscious when Wormtail returned… but when he awakened, he was a screamer. It was a pity, the Dark Lord thought, that magical restraint would complicate his use. The crude cloth gag did not entirely muffle the wailing.

He was two, perhaps three: old enough to cry in a language that Lord Voldemort neither knew nor cared to understand. He struggled and fought against the ropes in a fruitless attempt to escape. Wormtail did not detail where the boy had come from, other than to say he'd been playing unwatched by a stream when he had taken him… and Lord Voldemort did not ask. His clothing was second-hand and ordinary, and he suspected the rat had found a child he would need to fight no parents to snatch. If there were villagers in search of their missing kin, no shouts had yet reached his own woods.

He turned instead to the sliver and white mass upon the floor, which Wormtail was bleeding into a conjured basin. Pettigrew was even sweatier than usual as he worked, and Lord Voldemort wondered whether the man perspired out of nerves or merely due to the heat of the fire.

'Take the horn and tail,' he commanded, as Wormtail dumped a third basin-full of the creature's blood into the simmering cauldron. 'We may yet have use for them. The rest, leave for Nagini…'

He hissed in the snake's direction, and she moved forward gratefully.

'It has been too long since she has enjoyed decent meat,' he opined. 'And unicorn is the rarest treat of all. It will fortify her nicely.'

'She… she has given as much as we need already, my Lord,' Pettigrew said, checking the level of the liquid. 'We do not need to milk her –'

'The potion is but the first step, Wormtail,' Voldemort disagreed. 'Nagini's venom will serve to sustain this rudimentary body… until I can return to one more suitable.'

Wormtail did not reply, feverishly adding the chopped belladonna to the potion. Clouds of acid green smoke began issuing from its depths. Lord Voldemort checked the interior as it cleared, and saw that the liquid within had turned an inky black.

'Stir in the asphodel by degree,' he instructed softy. 'Go too hastily, Wormtail, and neither you nor this cavern will survive the explosion.'

The man swallowed fearfully, but his hands were steady as he sprinkled the slivered bits of wilted flower over the top of the potion, stirring gently as he went. The shade of the concoction did not alter, but the steam rose now in sparkling furls of silver. Wormtail removed the stirrer, adjusting the heat at the Dark Lord's command.

'The boy, now,' Lord Voldemort whispered. 'And quickly… the brew will lose its potency with any undue delay.'

Pettigrew looked vaguely queasy. His hands did shake, now, as he scooped up the struggling toddler.

'You may release his bonds,' the Dark Lord said; a thrill of excitement building within him. 'He will not resist much longer…'

Wormtail pulled a stubby silver knife from the pocket of his long robe. With a jerked wrist, he slashed the ropes that bound the boy, and yanked the gag from his mouth.

The child did not even have time to scream before the Dark Lord had attacked, throwing himself into the tiny frame and taking control of the unripe mind. Wormtail started slightly, but he did not drop the body from his arms. Lord Voldemort opened the child's eyes, fixing their scarlet gaze on his servant's face.

'Lower it in, slowly,' he said in a high-pitched whisper. 'Submerge us completely… and leave me be exactly three minutes. There must be time to burn away the spirit of the host… but longer than three minutes, and even my magic may not sustain what we need of the vessel…'

'Ye-yes, my Lord,' Wormtail agreed. He bent over the cauldron, adjusting his grip so that he was dangling his master by the armpits. Gradually, he lowered the body into the simmering depths. Lord Voldemort closed his eyes against the sear of pain… it was the boy's, after all, not his own. The child's suppressed soul was screaming – terrified and dying… but he, Lord Voldemort, would survive…

There was a release, and the borrowed body plunged entirely into the potion. He could feel it disintegrating the boy's clothing; invading tiny nostrils and ears; coating once-soft skin. The petrified echo in the recesses of his brain was fading now – broken and pained as its life was drained. The minutes stretched on… and, at last, it was silenced entirely.

A minute or so later, the potion began to drain: vanished slowly from the cauldron until only his own form remained. Pettigrew's arms reached down again, and lifted him from the base. The Dark Lord heard him stifle a whimper as he did so.

But his own eyes were focused on more important things.

'My wand, Wormtail,' he demanded as Pettigrew set him gently to the ground, seating him on the edge of a rock outcropping.

The man seemed only too eager to obey. He hurried to the opposite side of the cavern, where the yew wand lay perched on a makeshift ledge. He held it out for his master with his head bent – more out of fear, the Dark Lord suspected, than deference.

But it made no difference. He took the polished handle in true, unshared fingers, and felt that thrill of triumph once again.

His potion had worked, even brewed by Wormtail's clumsy hand. It was a pathetic, meagre form… but still, a form nonetheless. Corporeal. His.

It had shrunken slightly in the making; smaller even than the child had been. The skin was reddish-black in hue and scabbed, giving the appearance overall that he was staring at straight sinew exposed too long to the air. The limbs were fragile and thin – all musculature that the boy had had crumbled away in the transformation. Only the facial features felt vaguely familiar, as he drew in a first, rasping breath.

Already he could sense its weakness… yet he could not afford the time to strengthen. The woman would not last the night.

' _Nagini_ ,' he hissed, calling the snake toward him.

Though Wormtail cowered away now that his task in retrieving the wand had ended, revulsion clear in his face, Nagini was far less disappointing. She knew her master at once; whatever form he took.

'Wait outside until I call for you, Wormtail,' he said lazily, caressing the snake's smooth scales with his new hand as she coiled around him.

Wormtail, too eager for the excuse to flee as ever, scrambled to his feet and darted toward the cave entrance. The Dark Lord waited until his footsteps had died before murmuring to the snake again.

' _You have been my one true companion, my sweet,'_ he hissed. ' _And your venom has given me strength. Now… I shall return the favour. I shall give unto you what only I can grant. I shall give you Power… Worth beyond your dreams._ '

The snake hissed her acquiescence, her face just inches from his. Lord Voldemort lifted her chin with one reddened hand, and pressed the tip of his wand to the soft indent between her eyes.

' _I shall give you Magic_ ,' he whispered.

He started the low, complex chant. The snake stiffened beneath him for several long moments, and then her body went lax – docile… safe and ready in his arms.

He pointed the wand instead at Bertha Jorkins. It was nearly vibrating in his hand with its own excitement.

' _Avada Kedavra_!' he spat.

The only movement of the woman's figure was the impact of the spell itself as the jet of green light slammed into her chest – stilling its shallow rise and fall. Her dark eyes were fixed and open: as vacant in death as they had been in the last days of her life.

Lord Voldemort did not hesitate, though he could feel the pull of such strong magic taxing this contemptable body. He drew the wand slowly between the lifeless form and the enchanted one, chanting the familiar words…

' _Est ad conserva, partim ..._ _Est pars immortalem ..._ _nam id melius est quam regnabit in inferis serve diem. Vita sustentatur_ _;_ _vita percipi._ _Fulcite vita_ _… V_ _itam Immortalem_!'

The spell was colourless; entirely lightless. But the feeling was extraordinary. A pull in his very ribs – a ripping so deep he gasped aloud… immense, crippling pain… pressure…

And then it was lifted.

And Nagini opened eyes that gleamed scarlet, for just one moment, before fading to their usual yellow. The hue, he thought, was just a shade darker than it had been… just a touch more flame.

She was His.

The deed over, he collapsed flat on his back, waves of magic still rolling through him though the initial sensation had subsided. This would be the last he'd have to suffer through… this was Six.

And all were worth it.

'Wormtail,' he rasped out, when at last he could speak again. The rat, of course, could not hear the whisper. He looked instead to Nagini. She moved at once for the entrance to the cavern… as in tune with his thoughts, now, as she had always been to his command.

There was a pitiful squeal, and Pettigrew came scampering back into the shadows.

'M-my Lord?' he asked, crouching down. Concern worried with nausea in his expression. He seemed loathe to touch his master.

'I am weary,' the Dark Lord proclaimed. 'Conjure a bed of sorts, if the magic is not beyond you… then dispose of the corpse while I rest.'

Wormtail's beady eyes darted to the woman, crumpled on the ground. He swallowed heavily and looked greener than ever, as though he might be sick. Perhaps it was the stench. Now that he had physical senses once more, the Dark Lord could nearly taste the death and decay. He wondered that Wormtail had not yet vomited, these days the woman had lain dying on the cavern floor.

'The bed,' he commanded harshly again.

Wormtail shook himself. He pulled the dead woman's wand from his pocket, whipping it through the air. The bed was far from perfect… but it would do for now. He raised his arms expectantly. Pettigrew seemed to hesitate again.

'Do I repel you, Wormtail?' he asked, danger in every syllable.

The man shook his head quickly, eyes wide and fearful. He bent at once to lift the Dark Lord from the floor, and carried him to the mattress.

'Bury her deep,' Lord Voldemort instructed, as he curled himself down at last. 'If the Aurors or the Order discover her presence after we have left…'

'I will, my Lord,' Wormtail promised. He moved toward the body again, arm raised to levitate her.

'And do not be long,' he ordered. 'You will need to milk Nagini… I will need feeding every hour these next few days.'

Wormtail swallowed hard. His hand shook slightly as he raised the wand. He paused.

'What then, my Lord?' he asked, turning to face his master again.

The Dark Lord shifted against the blankets, adjusting his head as the swell of magic worked its way to calm.

'Nagini will provide,' he said quietly. 'But even with her sustenance, it shall take a week or two for this body to be strong enough for travel. And then… Then we return to Britain.'

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Four**

 **Hilte** : Thank you for your review! Happy to hear you have been following and enjoying the series :). I will try and update quickly for Chapter Six, as it was such a long delay between Chapters Three and Four. I hope you like the new instalment!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Mmm… yes, Lucius has loyalties that stretch beyond the black and white. Or, at least, he fears the Dark Lord's wrath. The wink! Haha… well, I could tell you not to read too much into it… but then, I would be lying.

Enjoy Chapter Five!

 **Undeniably Uzumaki** : Thank you for reviewing! Ah, so first I must apologise. I write review responses as they arrive, and at the time I had written my last to you, I had intended for chapter four to be entitled 'In the Southern Part of France' (which of course is now the title to chapter five). The two chapters were originally one, but it was far too long and I ended up splitting it. There is no way I would have expected that you'd make that connection from the new title to Chapter Four. It is a pity that Americans are a bit less informed on much of European history – though of course I understand why that would be. Don't worry, this story isn't going to require that you know much of architectural or ancient European history in general – and whatever might be needed I will always explain (or Dumbledore, more likely, will explain) within the chapter.

Alright now onward…. Ah, I expect it is frustrating sometimes when I punt on an answer. I do apologise – it certainly is a feeling I am familiar with as a reader of certain series and from telly. It is also, I suspect, a habit from the legal world. One of the first lessons you are taught as a barrister is that you never, _ever_ give clients a promised outcome on their case, no matter how hard or often they ask you. Otherwise, they will certainly hold you to precisely what you promised… and it might be that the case alters before it reaches its conclusion. Not that I would expect this series to diverge from what I have mapped out; but never say never. I am sorry because I know it gets frustrating, but wouldn't you also grow bored if I spoiled the suspense? If you have an absolutely burning question that you find I have punted on in a review response, however, I shall make you a compromise. I _might_ (no absolute promises!) share more information over PM – where other readers won't be spoiled by the reply.

Alright, so Chapter Four. The location question. Well some of this might be clearer after you have read this chapter (Chapter Five). As you'll see (or have seen, perhaps, if you're reading this after), Beauxbâtons is not located in Nîmes itself but in the Pyrenees. Like the entrance to Platform 9 ¾, the portal is in a fairly busy area… but the school itself is not. The decision to place these portals in both geographically convenient locations and populous ones is to do with making it as simple as possible for the students to get to their school. As to why Dumbledore apparated them so far from the entrance… two purposes. One, it is a fairly popular town for holiday-makers and fairly crowded, and Maison Carrée in particular is quite a tourist attraction, so appearing out of nowhere in the city square is probably not wise. Two, Albus intended, I think, for Harry to learn a bit from this journey, and to see some of Nîmes (if only passing through).

Severus… he walks a very delicate line. For one, I do not think Malfoy is hesitant about the Dark side or what Voldemort fights for. Rather, he is fearful of retribution for abandoning ship when Voldemort fell (correctly anticipating his wrath). He is wary of his master's possible return for this reason alone. I think the bit where he watches his son while musing aloud to Severus is quite telling: Malfoy is an evil man in many ways… but his love for his wife and son outweighs even his desire to see the Dark Lord triumph. He is afraid of what may befall the family if Voldemort rises angry… but he also thinks that a Voldemort returned to power would be an unstoppable force. Severus can see this, but he sees it for what it is. By that same logic, Severus recognises that Malfoy will do _anything_ necessary to keep himself in the Dark Lord's good graces, just as most of the Death Eaters will. To try and sow dissent may seem like a good idea to us (and indeed, I agree with you), but the risk for someone in Severus' already risky position (he _does_ need to convince Voldemort that he is not a traitor, after all) is very great. He can afford no action which might place his position in peril. For, after all, serving as a spy for the Order and protecting Lily's child is what Severus considers his foremost – perhaps _only_ – purpose. That was a lengthy explanation that probably has spoiled some things, but it will be explored throughout this book in more detail.

Ok, the House-elf. I will be honest with you – first by admitting that I found this scene _very_ difficult to write, and almost cut it several times. I actually think this scene is incredibly important to the larger plot, though not in as obvious or immediate a way as some of our others. I know it is revolting, and frankly your reaction is exactly the reaction I had hoped to induce in readers. You _should_ be reading scenes like this and feel nothing but disgust; you should think it twisted and sick and wonder what the hell was running through my head when I wrote it. I want it to draw exactly that visceral dislike. And perhaps that makes little sense… but it is why I chose not to cut it, though my greatest revulsion in the Death Eaters' canon actions is their utter depravity when it comes to those creatures and humans that they consider lesser. I needed not for the reader to see the cruel torture of the elf, but the torture of Severus Snape. This is a test of his mettle and his worthiness, in the eyes of the young Death Eaters, as much as it is also a demonstration of their disregard for life. He _had_ already demonstrated the spell… but, obviously, the point in making him do so again was not really about the spell at all. It was about forcing him to demonstrate that he could face the innocent, the helpless, and cut them down on demand. Severus' desire to join – to be accepted, to gain power, to prove himself – is so great that he sets aside any scruples and performs the act they have requested of him. He is willing, as he tells Lucius, to do whatever it takes. I do apologise for its disturbing nature, but I must say I found it necessary to go there in this chapter. It is all well and good to describe in general terms what the Death Eaters did and how they enthralled Severus in his youth… but to really delve into the intricacies of that tumultuous connection, it is sometimes necessary to go deeper, and perhaps darker. That said, I completely understand your disquiet. I assure you I feel similarly in writing it.

Now, on that note, I feel I must warn you now that if you thought the House-elf scene was difficult to read, I suspect you will find the conclusion to this chapter even more so… though perhaps it is one you have been anticipating since the end of Chapter Three. It was one of the earliest scenes I envisioned writing when I began Child of Hogwarts… but it was also by far the most difficult for me to complete, perhaps because I am now a mother. It is also a scene that JKR originally wrote and then cut from Goblet of Fire, for her editor was thoroughly sickened by its description. I cannot know, of course, what it was JKR had detailed… but I suspect it was along these lines. I will promise that it is the last such twisted scene we will see for quite some time. And also that it is a necessary plot point, in my view.

On that note, I hope you will enjoy Chapter Five!

 **Baelkaz** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you are enjoying the story/writing, and I hope you'll like Chapter 5!

 **Blimey2310** : Thanks for your review! I am glad you liked the beginning of the Beauxbâtons journey; though I feel I am not yet deserving of your praise :). As I think you will see from Chapter Five, the entryway in Nîmes is more of a portal than a true gate to the school… and its final location rests many miles away, nestled in the Pyrenees. Still, I hope you will like the description of the school and its location! Some of the details are my own, of course… some are from the canon books, and others are from what I call 'supplemental canon' (information that JKR has since released)… but it is, indeed, a more 'stately palace in a valley' type of school.

My best to you and your loved ones, and enjoy Chapter Five!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you liked the beginnings of our trip to France. The holiday continues for most of Chapter Five, which hopefully will bring some lightness to a chapter that ends quite ominously. I hope you enjoy it!


	6. To Slay a Minotaur

**A/N:** Tried to keep this interlude short for all of you :) – and thus, though it is coming fast on 3:00 in the morning, I am having a bit of insomnia tonight and thus felt I may as well put this up now. No cautions to give this time – but if you are looking for a refresher on Ariana Dumbledore's story (beyond what is shared in _Deathly Hallows_ ), I strongly suggest re-reading Part II, Chapter 26: 'All Hallows Eve.'

I hope everyone enjoys 'To Slay a Minotaur'!

 **Please** **read and review**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

CHAPTER SIX

 **To Slay a Minotaur**

 _It was Albus who did it._

 _She had hardly spoken in weeks. She sat for hours on the chaise lounge at the window – staring out into the back garden… occasionally sipping at warmed goats milk; eating almost nothing. Saying less. August had faded into September. September now almost into October. And still, she sat. She never even smiled, anymore._

 _It made Albus sad to watch her this way._

 _'Come and play, Ariana,' he enticed her, closing his small hand over hers._

 _She did not even flinch, ignoring the doll he shook temptingly in front of her face._

 _Albus hated playing dolls. But he hated even more watching her sit here, sad and alone._

 _'Do you want her gown to be violet?' he asked, holding up the doll like an offering once more. 'Like your ribbon? I can do that, if you want. Look!'_

 _He put his palm on the tulle, forcing his magic through his fingertips. The dress shimmered a moment, then started to change from pink to violet._

 _Something shifted behind his sister's eyes. A long crack appeared in the window with a tiny grind of glass._

 _Suddenly, Ariana jumped off the chaise lounge, shoving Albus so roughly he skidded on his bum along the floor. She scuttled to a corner, hands wrapping around her tiny waist. She looked wild, terrified – her eyes darting about the room even while her feet stood rooted to her spot._

 _'Ariana,' Albus tried, pushing himself back to his feet and stepping toward her. 'It's alright. It's only –'_

 _But she was shaking her head vigorously, her blonde bunches whipping against her cheeks. Her breath came in quick, panicked gasps… almost as if she could not catch it at all._

 _A portrait of some ancestor on the wall behind her tutted in alarm. Ariana's head jerked toward it once, then away again. The painting began to rattle and quake, slipping side to side and banging against the wall. The stuffy little witch in the frame started to shriek._

 _Ariana clutched at her head, rocking back and forth._

 _The hangings began to fray and the portrait dipped dangerously. Its occupant gave one final squeal of horror, and dove out the side of her frame for refuge. Ariana sent a terrified look up at the dropping frame, but she did not move out from beneath its path as it slipped in earnest…_

 _'ARIANA!'_

 _Albus lunged forward to push her out of the way, and managed to thrust her clear of the toppling frame. But as she fell sideward, he too was thrown – in the opposite direction. He went flying clear across the room, slamming hard into the arm of the sofa. He felt his nose crack on the contact._

 _He cupped a hand to his face automatically, torn between pain and shock as he felt the blood. He stared in surprise and fear at his sister._

 _The little girl was strange… morphing. An odd black mist seemed to be forming around her, darkening and widening… obscuring her slight form. As it grew in size, the room itself began to tingle with some dark, angry magic. The floor shook beneath Albus' knees. The crack in the window spidered. The painted people dove frame to frame in a run toward the corridor, as each of their portraits began to burst their hangings in turn. The ceramic jar of Floo Powder jiggled itself to the edge of the mantle and fell with a crash to the hearth, engulfing the room in sparkling dust._

 _'Ariana!'_

 _Albus turned. His parents had rushed into the room, both of their faces white in horror._

 _'It's my fault!' Albus cried, scurrying on his knees toward them. 'I didn't mean to… I just wanted her to play. I just wanted her not to be so sad. But she –'_

 _'Come away, Albus,' his mother commanded, bending to lift him off the ground._

 _He let her, clutching his arms around her neck. Aberforth's face appeared in the doorframe, just as scared as everyone else. Kendra Dumbledore shifted Albus on her hip and waved a hand for his brother to keep back. Their father, meanwhile, was approaching Ariana – very slowly, as if creeping up on a frightened animal._

 _'It's alright,' he was saying softly. 'It's alright, my darling. Nobody will hurt you now. And not ever again, I promise you.'_

 _Albus did not hear whatever else his father might have said to Ariana. For Kendra carried him away and into the kitchen, guiding Aberforth with the opposite hand. Aberforth was crying; though whether in response to Albus' own tears or the scene with their sister, Albus was not sure._

 _'I didn't mean to,' Albus said thickly again, as his mother set him down upon the table and pulled her wand to mend his nose. 'I didn't mean to make her all –'_

 _'You did not do anything, love,' his mother reassured him. But she too was crying, and it made Albus even more nervous than before. She tapped his face with the tip of her wand and the broken nose reset._

 _Beyond the wall, they could hear continued calamity in the sitting room._

 _Several hours later, the three children had been put to bed. Albus and Aberforth had not seen Ariana since the scene downstairs. Albus knew his father had carried her up into her own bedroom and shut the door. She had not re-emerged for supper, or any time since._

 _Now, the two boys lay in their beds, unable to sleep. From below them, Albus could hear the sounds of their parents having an argument in the kitchen. Aberforth sat up in bed, nodding toward the door. Albus pushed back his own blankets and climbed out._

 _Together, they crept across the cold wooden floorboards, pulled open the door, and tiptoed down the staircase. They crouched at the foot of the closed kitchen entrance._

 _'– heard of this happening, but not in years,' his father was growling. Hard footsteps echoed from beyond the door, and Albus knew that Percival was pacing. 'If they find out, they will take her. They will not let her stay… too great a risk.'_

 _'She's only six,' came their mother's voice. It was thick, and heavy. As if she was crying again._

 _'And her magic is strong,' his father countered. 'Stronger even than either of the boys. The Ministry will see it only as compounding the danger… If they discover her, we shall never see her again.'_

 _'Perhaps we should contact another Healer,' Kendra suggested in a whisper. 'Someone who specialises –'_

 _There was a crash, and Albus and Aberforth both jumped. Albus clapped a hand to his brother's mouth to stop him squealing. He suspected his father had slammed a fist on the table._

 _'You don't understand!' Percival shouted. 'There is NO cure for what she has become. There IS no undoing it; no healing it. They have damaged her – RUINED her – permanently!'_

 _Kendra began sobbing loud enough to hear through the door. Aberforth's lip trembled in response. Albus put a hand on his shoulder – half in comfort, half in a silent reminder to keep quiet. A family cat brushed round their ankles, and Albus buried his other hand in its fur._

 _'What do we do?' his mother choked out. 'What can we –'_

 _'Nothing,' his father said, voice breaking. 'There is nothing to be done, Kendra. Keep her here, hide her… keep her from the Ministry.'_

 _There was a soft rustling sound beyond the door._

 _'Percival? What are you –'_

 _'They took her,' his father said in a low dangerous hiss. 'They TOOK her, Kendra. They've made her a monster… They've KILLED my little girl…'_

 _His mother gave a hiccupped sob. 'Don't speak so,' she begged. 'We cannot know –'_

 _'Keep her safe,' his father whispered. 'Keep them all safe. Promise me.'_

 _'Percival? Percival… you_ can't _–'_

 _Heavy footsteps sounded again, coming closer. Albus grabbed the back of Aberforth's dressing gown and yanked him quickly around the bend, into the shadows of the corridor. He clutched him close as they watched in fear._

 _The swinging door to the kitchen smacked off the wall as it was shoved aside, and the cat they had been stroking scampered out of the way. Percival Dumbledore stalked through, his right hand clenched around his wand and his left throwing the hood up on his cloak as he swept for the front of the house._

 _Kendra caught the edge of the kitchen door before it could strike her, high-heeled boots clicking as she darted after her husband._

 _'_ Percival! _'_

 _But he had already blasted the front door ajar. He turned for just a moment on the top step, and Albus could have sworn his father's brilliant blue eyes locked on his..._

 _Then he vanished in a silent swirl of his cloak._

 _And Albus never laid eyes on his father again._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Searing pain woke him.

Blinding, awful, piercing agony that felt as though physical claws were tearing through his chest and head alike. Harry wouldn't have believed anything could have surpassed it, but this was far worse than the sickening pain that had left him sweating and vomiting just two nights ago… worse even than the Cruciatus Curse. It jerked him so abruptly from sleep and attacked him so acutely, he did not even have the breath to scream.

His back arched so high off the bed, he might have been surprised his spine did not fracture, if he had the wherewithal for thought at all. One hand flew to his chest. The other clapped over his forehead. He was dizzy even with his eyes closed, his throat still blocked by the wave of agony… And he was burning… boiling; melting; ripping…

He could not think, or see. He could not breathe. The spasm seemed to go on for a lifetime. And then…

The terrible pressure in his chest released quite suddenly, as though someone had cut an invisible bind. At almost the same moment, the pain in Harry's forehead reached its greatest pitch yet. Something seemed to give… and Harry's fingers were suddenly drenched in more than sweat.

His breath returned now that the hold on his lungs had released, Harry screamed.

' _Al_ -!'

It came out half-choked, much softer than he had intended. He spat a mouthful of mingled blood and sick over the side of the mattress and tried again.

' _ALBUS_!'

It took only moments for the headmaster to arrive. He might have apparated in. Harry could hardly stand to open his eyes, and when he did his vision was clogged and dim with lack of glasses and the steady stream from his forehead.

Albus was framed in the doorway, his face white and his eyes blazing even by Harry's poor sight. In less than a moment, he had lit every candle in the room with a wave of his hand and run for the bed. Harry shut his eyes again at the blaze of light. It only compounded the agony.

Stronger hands pulled his away from his brow, locking both his wrists in an iron grip. Harry gasped and screamed and thrashed, but Albus did not release him. He pressed a damp flannel over the bleeding gash and Harry's eyes. It was icy cold.

'Harry, be still,' Dumbledore said firmly, pressing him hard against the pillows.

'He's… he's killed her,' Harry ground out, sense returning even through the continued pain. 'The woman… she's dead. And the snake…'

'Hush,' Albus said. Harry felt the cloth move slightly, but then it was pressed back even harder. He hissed again at the contact. 'You can tell me later.'

There was a murmured incantation, followed by the clink of glass on glass. Then Dumbledore was pressing something against his lips. Harry turned his head away instinctually, but Albus held him firm.

'Drink,' he insisted, holding the phial to Harry's mouth. 'It is for pain, Harry. It will help.'

Harry drank. He could not even taste the brew through the torture. It seemed to ease the very edges of the pain, but it was by no means vanquished.

'Another,' Albus said, a second phial at Harry's lips.

Harry drank again. And again. And again. By the time he had consumed the fifth phial, no longer even aware of what it was the headmaster was feeding him, he finally felt the worst of the agony begin to ebb. He had not been sick again… and he wondered if one of the many phials had contained a Stomach Soother.

'Keep your eyes closed,' Albus advised quietly.

Harry felt the flannel lift once more, very slowly. Blood once again began to flow down his nose. A cool hand replaced the cloth. Albus was chanting in a low, melodious stream. Harry could feel the magic emanating from the headmaster's palm, but the bleeding did not cease. Albus took his hand back, paused for a moment, and then replaced the cloth, pressing it down even harder.

Harry pushed the fabric away from his eyes. 'Why hasn't it stopped?' he asked fearfully. 'Why is it _bleeding_?'

He could not see the headmaster's expression clearly without his spectacles, but the blue eyes were definitely not twinkling.

'It is coming from your scar,' Albus said quietly, confirming what Harry had already expected. 'It is a cursed wound… the healing spell was always a long shot.'

'But then how –'

Harry broke off before he could finish the query. A high, familiar trill echoed through the bedchamber, and Fawkes appeared in a burst of scarlet fire.

The phoenix seemed to know precisely what to do. He soared over the bed, alighting with a soft flump on Harry's pillows. Albus gingerly removed the cloth once more, and Fawkes laid his beautiful plumed head down upon Harry's brow. Tingling droplets fell into the open wound, and the pain receded another few inches as the scar was closed.

'Thank you,' Albus murmured quietly to the bird. He stroked the phoenix' head once with a long finger, and gave some follow-up missive that even Harry could not hear. Fawkes straightened and, in a flash, he was gone again.

'The bleeding's stopped?' Harry croaked, reaching up a hand as if to confirm. He hissed as he touched the scar. It was no longer open and oozing, but it still seared.

Albus caught up his fingers and pulled them away again, frowning as he studied Harry's face.

'Yes,' he said. 'But even phoenix tears cannot cure all ills.'

He summoned another two potions in silence and pressed a phial into Harry's hand.

'Blood Replenisher,' he explained before Harry could ask. 'And I am afraid you shall be needing two.'

Harry groaned. 'I don't want –'

But Albus, who was waving his wand over Harry to clear the worst of the blood, gave him a look so stern that Harry did not bother to finish. He drained the sixth potion of the night, and the seventh, without further protest.

Dumbledore twisted his hand in mid-air. A fresh flannel floated down into it. He folded the flannel into thirds and laid it carefully across Harry's healed forehead. He put a hand to Harry's cheek, his own brow still furrowed in concern.

'I do not like this,' he admitted. 'You have had two Antipyretics already…'

'I did the Occlumency,' Harry told him softly. 'I swear, I did. But it –'

'We need to start your training in more advanced Mind Magic,' Albus said grimly. 'This is not your fault, Harry. Even I did not anticipate that things would escalate so quickly.'

'I thought you said Hogwarts would help,' Harry whispered. He was frightened, and he knew it showed… but he could not bring himself to care just now. 'You said the castle's magic would help…'

'And it should have,' Albus agreed. 'I do not –'

'This was _worse_ ,' Harry insisted, shivering. 'Much worse. My chest –'

Albus' eyes flashed. He shifted at once, placing a palm on Harry's chest and pulling his wand again. He closed his eyes, and Harry felt the same sort of magical pressure on his ribcage that he had on his forehead. Nothing seemed to happen. Dumbledore opened his eyes again, his expression unreadable, and ran the familiar diagnostic charm.

'It's not hurting, now,' Harry said while the beam of light coursed down his torso. 'But when I woke… I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. It was like something was tearing through me, ripping me apart… worse than the Cruciatus.'

Dumbledore's frown deepened, but he did not reply. He caught up the little scrap of parchment, eyes whizzing back and forth as he read it before banishing it.

'What does it say?' Harry asked curiously. To his chagrin, the headmaster conjured a thermometer and handed it to him before speaking. Harry put it under his tongue with a scowl.

'Fever, blood loss and muscle strain,' Albus informed him, adjusting the cool flannel. 'But nothing that I did not expect. The potions' ineffectiveness, however –'

The door banged off the wall, startling Albus from his speech and Harry so badly that he nearly dropped the thermometer.

To his horror, Snape stood framed in the doorway. He was wearing a thick black dressing gown tied tight round his waist, and a snarl so filthy that Harry thought it a miracle nobody had already been cursed. Fawkes swept back into the chamber over the Potions master's head, fluttering to perch on Harry's wardrobe.

'The phoenix was a touch dramatic, Albus,' Snape complained. His eyes locked on Harry's face and he sneered. 'For yet another occurrence of Potter's indisposition.'

Harry felt hot anger course through him. He made to shout back, but Albus' hand pushed lightly on the thermometer, making it impossible for him to open his mouth without risking undignified gagging.

'I do not know if you have noticed, headmaster,' Snape continued to grumble. 'But I am _not_ the school's mediw–'

He stopped suddenly mid-insult. Dumbledore had taken the thermometer back and stood from the bed, giving the professor what seemed to be his first unimpeded view of more than Harry's head and Albus' back. His dark eyes narrowed as he took in the bloodstained sheets and the equally scarlet front of the headmaster's robes. Harry saw his fingers tighten where they were splayed on the door he'd thrown ajar.

'What happened here?' he demanded icily.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The room looked as though Potter had been stabbed in his sleep, yet Severus could see no wound on the boy but the famous scar. That scar, however, was inflamed and angry – quite as prominent as it had been two nights ago on Privet Drive. He turned his gaze on the headmaster, who met his eyes with deep concern. His spangled dressing gown was smattered with as much blood as the bedding. Were it not for the boy's obvious illness, Severus would have thought the headmaster was the wounded party.

'Albus?' he demanded again, when neither the boy nor Dumbledore answered the query.

'He has a fever of nearly forty degrees, even after several doses of antipyretic,' Albus answered curtly. 'I do not have anything stronger here.'

Severus bit down on his retort, clapping his hands to summon an elf. He gave her directions to the proper store cupboard. She returned post-haste, and he passed the more powerful potion to Dumbledore.

'Better,' Albus decided, testing Potter's cheeks with his knuckles a few moments later. 'But not entirely.'

Severus scowled. 'That was a Grade V,' he said; unnecessarily, for he was sure Albus had recognised the potion. 'He cannot take anything stronger… If he has contracted –'

'It'll be gone by morning,' Potter insisted impatiently. 'It always is.'

The words were familiar. Severus had heard them before. And suddenly, the similarities between this scene and the last took on more significant force.

'Another dream?' he spat, looking between Albus and Potter. 'Are you even _trying_ to block them, boy?'

Potter flared up at once, springing upright in the bed. 'I _am_ trying!' he said hotly. 'You think I _want_ my scar bursting open and –'

'Lie back, Harry,' Dumbledore insisted, pressing on his shoulders. He replaced the flannel on Potter's forehead. 'You will make it worse. Severus, thank you for your assistance. Perhaps you would wait in the study a few minutes…'

Severus crossed his arms as he glowered. He did not move.

'Are you insinuating that this mess –' he gestured around the blood-drenched room – 'Occurred because Potter's scar _reopened_?'

'It did,' Albus confirmed. He was not looking at Severus, but his shoulders were stiff.

'He killed her,' Potter said dully. 'That woman… the one from the last dream. I saw it.'

Severus took a step closer to the bed. His eyes bored holes in the back of the headmaster's skull, but Dumbledore did not turn from the boy.

'Harry,' Albus said softly. 'Other than the physical symptoms, was there anything different about this dream? Anything at all?'

Potter frowned, apparently thinking hard. 'The feelings were worse,' he whispered. 'My scar… that thing with my chest. But the dream was… fuzzier, I think. I don't remember as much. I didn't wake up screaming or anything, I… I didn't even _notice_ the dream, really, until the pain started.'

He paused, looking confused. 'But that doesn't make sense, does it? Wouldn't that mean the Occlumency was working; or the castle's protection? Making it _less_ than it was? Why would the dream get harder to see, but make me feel worse when I woke?'

Albus stroked at his beard. From his angle, Severus could not guess at the headmaster's thoughts.

'What did you see?' Severus demanded.

'Darkness,' Potter said softly. 'And then… a snake. A huge snake, just like in the last one. And the same woman. A burst of green light, like when… when my parents died. And the woman was dead. _He_ did it.'

Suddenly, Potter seized the front of Albus' robes.

'But… how, Albus?' he whispered. 'How could Voldemort have cast the spell? He'd need a wand… and for that, he'd need…'

'A body,' Severus finished in a low hiss.

Albus did turn slightly this time. Enough that their eyes could briefly meet.

'He picked him up,' Potter said suddenly, looking between the two men. 'I remember… after the woman died. That's when the pain started, and then I _thought_ I woke up. But I don't…'

He screwed up his face, looking confused.

'Maybe I was only half awake,' he reasoned. 'Because I can remember Pettigrew… he picked Voldemort up and put him on some sort of bed. I don't remember, really, what he looked like. Just a bundle of black… small. He wasn't anything like a wizard.'

There was an odd expression on Albus' face now. His blue eyes were very intense as they scrutinised the boy.

'That was the only time you saw him?' he asked quietly.

Severus shot him a curious look, but Albus did not elaborate.

Potter frowned. 'I… I think so,' he said at last. 'It's all I can remember…'

'Where was the snake?' the headmaster queried.

'What do you mean?' Potter asked, still frowning. 'It was _there_ – I've just said. The same snake as before I think… huge, and green, and –'

'You misunderstand me, Harry,' Albus said gently. 'I meant… do you recall where the snake was positioned, when you saw Peter carrying Lord Voldemort?'

'I…'

Potter paused, chewing at his lip. 'No,' he said at last. 'I couldn't see it then. Or, at least, I can't remember…'

His cheeks were reddening. The headmaster cupped one lightly, and his brow contracted again.

'You need to rest,' he said decisively. 'Dreamless Sleep, I think.'

Potter groaned, but he took the potion without his usual whinging. Albus waited until his breathing evened out before rising from the bed and spelling the bloodstains from the room and his own clothes. He set a charm over the bed, and nodded Severus ahead of him out the door.

Neither spoke until they had reached the circular study.

' _Another_ dream?' Severus repeated sharply, the moment Albus sank into his usual armchair. 'Twice in a week, Albus…'

'Yes,' the headmaster agreed heavily. He looked weary, and far more worried than gave Severus any comfort. He ran a hand over his beard. 'I had wondered whether you felt any sign…'

Severus scowled. 'No,' he denied brusquely. He pulled up the sleeve of his dressing gown, examining the skin just to be sure. The mark was perhaps a fraction darker, but still not nearly what it had once been. 'It has been irritated, off and on, ever since it reawakened several days ago. But it has not yet burned black. Yet if he has regained his body…'

'If,' Albus echoed, nodding in thought. 'And on the whole, Severus, I suspect not.'

The Potions master scoffed disbelievingly, but Albus held up a hand.

'He must surely have obtained _some_ form,' Albus corrected. 'Some corporeal form, to be exact. Or, as both you and Harry so rightly pointed out, it would not be possible to control a wand.'

'Unless Potter's assumptions are incorrect… or he has possessed another,' Severus countered.

'Harry is not likely to be wrong, in this,' Albus said quietly. 'And though we cannot rule out possession, I rather doubt it.'

Severus arched an eyebrow. 'And why not?' he challenged. 'He has killed through possession before, Albus. It would not be impossible.'

'No,' Albus agreed. 'But Harry's reaction… I suspect for this death, in particular, Voldemort would have needed a body of his own.'

'Why?' Severus demanded.

But Albus did not explain. He stared into the embers of the hearth as he continued to stroke his beard. Severus ground his teeth.

'It cannot be his true form,' Albus mused softly. 'The description does not fit. And if he _had_ regained his true body, or even his full powers… the Mark, surely, would tell us.'

Severus crossed his arms. 'Lucius is concerned,' he confided.

Albus glanced up.

'I went to Malfoy Manor this afternoon,' Severus enlightened him. 'He sent an owl, the day after… I meant to meet with you on it in the morning.'

The headmaster pressed his fingertips together, looking thoughtful. 'So they all have felt it,' he said quietly. 'As we had suspected, of course.'

Severus inclined his head. 'Lucius was quite agitated,' he said. 'He does not understand it… but then, he thought the Dark Lord finished. Dead, even. He fears his reception will not be pleasant if the Dark Lord should return to power.'

'Indeed,' Albus said. 'And what did you tell him, Severus?'

'I did as we had discussed,' he confirmed. 'I imagine it will not be the last time he calls, if the Mark continues to strengthen… but as yet, there is no sign that either the Dark Lord or Peter Pettigrew have sought assistance from Malfoy. And I rather doubt they shall… Lucius is a skilled wizard, but a prominent one. His is not a place you would seek to hide unseen. Not least because Draco is of neither an age nor inclination to keep his silence.'

Albus nodded softly. 'I met with Karkaroff in France,' he offered. 'He was at the conference on the tournament, of course.'

Severus' eyes flashed. 'A coward and a fool if ever there was one,' he opined. 'I'm sure he is quaking in his robes.'

He had never liked the Durmstrang headmaster; not least because he was well aware the wizard had accused Severus in an effort to save himself – just one of many he had striven to throw to the Dementors in his stead. Severus had already sworn his allegiance to Dumbledore by that point… but that did not excuse the treachery.

'He did seem rather more cantankerous than usual,' Albus said lightly. 'Though, of course, it is hard to tell with Igor.'

Severus snorted bitterly.

'That he will be at the castle all year is a more unwelcome prospect than the Weasley twins having scraped by their OWL.'

Albus' eyes twinkled slightly for the first time that evening. 'Scraped by, Severus?' he asked curiously. 'The results will not be released for weeks… unless you are in possession of some secret knowledge?'

Severus choked a bit on his bile. 'I may have received a letter from one of their examiners,' he said evasively. 'But it is months to the start of term. I am sure I can think of _some_ way to keep them at bay by autumn.'

The twinkle grew. 'Well in any case, on Igor… Alastor's presence should help,' he said. 'Another set of eyes cannot hurt, particularly with the circumstances.'

'You are bringing on Aurors for protection now?' Severus retorted. 'You might have at least gone with a sane one, Albus, if you insist –'

'Alastor is no longer in the Ministry's employ,' Albus reminded him, with just a hint of warning. 'And he will be hired to teach this term.'

' _Moody?_ ' Severus repeated, shocked and disgusted. 'Mad-Eye Moody – hired to _teach_ , Dumbledore? You would entrust Defence Against the Dark Arts to a madman?! The students are as likely to be murdered in lessons as they are to learn a lick… or else all run round the school blasting corners before they turn. To say _nothing_ of having _him_ in the castle…'

'I realise your relationship has not always been a smooth one,' said Albus delicately, though still with that touch of warning. 'But Alastor is both very knowledgeable and highly gifted. Our students can learn much from him, Severus. Whatever his… idiosyncrasies, they can be managed.'

Severus snarled. 'His eccentricities are only half my concern, Albus. He trusts _nobody_. He obeys no boundaries. He uses Mind Magic with careless abandon. I ought to know,' he added bitterly, 'As he has attempted it on _me_ …'

'And luckily for all involved, you are as skilled an Occlumens as I have ever met, Severus,' Albus reminded him. 'But I shall speak with Alastor. He knows there will be limits and regulations when he arrives at this school. Do not assume for a moment that I will not enforce them. In _all_ cases,' he added – and Severus recognised the allusion.

He clenched his fists. 'Moody fought very hard to put _me_ in Azkaban,' he reminded the headmaster.

'He did,' Albus agreed with a sigh. 'Though can you honestly tell me, Severus, considering the matter from Alastor's position… that you believe he had no cause to do so?'

Severus stiffened uncomfortably. There was a long, very pregnant silence.

'I cannot,' he ground out at last. 'That you spoke for me, Albus, was…'

'What was right,' Albus finished for him. 'You sacrificed much, Severus, to assist at the end. And you continue to do so. Alastor does not know the details, of course… but he knows enough not to make trouble.'

Severus very much doubted this. The idea of the headmaster bringing a sworn enemy onto the staff… to teach in what should be _his_ post… gave him a sudden need to curse something into oblivion. But Albus' eyes were heavy, his face careworn. In the winding down of their discussion, his gaze was darting more and more frequently to the staircase – to where Potter lay above. Potter… with his worsening nightmares. Potter… in the Dark Lord's mind.

Severus might need Occlumency for Albus' new _professor_ ; but Potter faced the greatest Legilimens alive.

Save, perhaps, one.

'You'd best teach him, and quickly,' Severus said bluntly, as Albus' eyes wandered yet again.

The blue gaze flicked back, and Severus did not need to explain for the headmaster to understand.

'I realise,' Albus said, sighing again. 'I had not thought things would progress quite so rapidly.'

'Then you will need to match the speed,' he said darkly. 'The Dark Lord is no fool, Albus… If he has regained a body, and if you are correct in your theory of Potter's role in these dreams… it is only a matter of time before He senses the boy's thoughts among his own.'

'Yes,' the headmaster agreed in a whisper. 'And I can hardly sedate him with potions forever. We will start at once. Tomorrow, if Harry is recovered.'

Severus nodded stiffly, but he ground his teeth. 'You do realise, headmaster,' he said after a moment, 'That gentle instruction will not be enough?' Albus looked up, frowning. But Severus pressed on regardless. 'The Dark Lord has not your care for subtlety.'

'I know what Tom Riddle does to those he tortures,' Albus said, his eyes hard. 'I taught him, Severus. And I have spent more than two decades –'

'You are the greatest wizard of the age, Albus, but you do _not_ know,' Severus disagreed in a harsh snarl. 'You know what you have seen, what you have heard,' he conceded. 'You know the aftermath. But you have no _idea_ what it is to be on the other side of a mental attack from the Dark Lord.'

His hand moved automatically to the Mark again. He rubbed it with his thumb almost absentmindedly.

'You will ease Potter into this,' he accused as he paced. 'You will want to protect him, as you always do. But you cannot approach this with caution, Albus… not if you want the boy to succeed.'

'I know Harry, Severus,' Albus said firmly. 'I do not dismiss what you have suffered; or that you know more of what that suffering feels like than I could ever know. But I will prepare Harry for –'

'It is not in your nature,' Severus said, speaking over Dumbledore. 'Your brand of Legilimency… the creeping probe, the soft, silent, _gentle_ invasion… this is not the Dark Lord's way. In some respects, yours is a more difficult magic to block. But the methods require different skill. If you are to teach Potter to defend his mind, you _must_ show him what he is defending against.'

'Just because a wizard chooses not to use a skill, Severus,' Albus said quietly, climbing laboriously to his feet again and striding at last for the staircase, 'Does not mean he is without the ability to do so.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Albus took one look at Harry the following morning and marched him straight back up the stairs. He had not really expected otherwise, having spent half his own night wearing a path in the corridor carpet, checking on the fever. It had reduced significantly, and the scar had not opened again… but Harry was still pale and unsteady on his feet.

Harry, predictably, protested.

'It's _always_ gone in the morning,' he insisted, as the headmaster turned down the scarlet bedclothes with a flick of his hand. 'I feel almost normal – really.'

'Perhaps in a few hours,' Albus said, nudging him back for the sheets.

'I'm not a child,' Harry insisted, arms crossed. 'And I'm _fine_.'

'Harry,' the headmaster said firmly. 'You will rest until you are recovered, because that is the wise thing to do and you have the ability and the time to do it. This has nothing to do with age. I would insist upon it whether you were fourteen, four or forty. Now please, lie down.'

Harry acquiesced with a grumble, and Albus left to retrieve another round of the potions while he settled.

'Hagrid has been wanting to see you,' he told him as he handed over the first phial. 'Perhaps if you are feeling better later, we can take luncheon together.'

Harry pulled a face as he swallowed, but then his expression brightened a fraction. 'Yeah, alright,' he agreed. 'Maybe I'll go down there this afternoon too… I haven't been out in the grounds at all since I got back.'

Albus smiled. 'I am sure that would delight him,' he said, passing over the second. 'And then this evening, if you are up to it, we shall begin to work on strengthening your defences.'

Harry nodded, a bit more serious as he drained the second potion. He yawned at once, and glared as he gave back the empty. 'You laced that one,' he accused, fighting another yawn. 'That's _Minerva's_ trick… you're sure she isn't home yet?'

The headmaster chuckled lightly, pulling up the blankets. 'Rest,' he said again.

He laid a hand briefly on the boy's head, dimmed the candles and drew the curtains, and then slipped quietly from the room.

He walked slowly down to the study, sinking into the chair behind his desk. He pulled a pile of unanswered post toward him, but stared unseeingly at the topmost letter – a lethargy most inapposite with his character consuming him; unimpeded as Albus sat alone in this office that was both crown and shackle.

He could have done with a return to bed himself. It had been a near sleepless night, between his hour-long discussion with Severus, tending to Harry, and the tumult that were his own thoughts. Gellert's words continued to swim in them…

 _'You have a choice yet again, Albus. You may choose to save the boy… or you may choose the Greater Good… but you are a fool if you believe you may have both.'_

There was a reason, he told himself firmly, that he sat in this tower, and Gellert reposed in his. Gellert was clever – was brilliant, even – and he was insightful in many ways… it was the reason that he was still so useful in this quest. But he was _not_ right, in this. There was a way, there was always a way – even to defeat the undefeatable.

Hadn't he done it before, after all?

The wand in his pocket seemed to thrum its accord, and yet the voice in his head disagreed.

After all, he had not. Not where it had always mattered the most.

The book lay in a hidden drawer of the nightstand, accessible only with his own touch. A reminder of everything he'd been and done… everything he'd loved, and lost. He had not opened it at all, but his fingers grazed the drawer every time he set his head to the pillows. He ought to have left it in that tower – that home for banished truths; conquered foes. It had no place at Hogwarts. It was akin to letting Lucifer creep through the heavenly gates.

No. It was akin to bowing him in.

The Hallows… The Horcruxes. Those two incongruous tethers to immortality… yet two nooses to untimely death. He had failed, the last time. He could not fail again.

He would not fail for Harry.

 _Their mother hadn't chastised them for listening in the corridor. On the contrary, she hadn't said anything at all. They followed her up the stairs in silence, and she moved without a word into Ariana's bedroom, shutting the door behind her. They returned to their own beds, but neither could fall asleep._

 _Which is why Albus was the first to hear the rap upon the front door. He climbed back out of bed and down the stairs through the grey light of early dawn to answer the call, not wanting to disturb his mother._

 _He opened it to see a very tall witch, dressed in long, official robes of deep maroon and wearing an expression that would have been more suited to confrontation with a dragon than a child. She glared down at him, and Albus took an automatic step back._

 _'I need to speak with your mother,' the woman commanded in clipped tones._

 _'She's –'_

 _'Go back upstairs, Albus,' a soft voice interrupted._

 _Kendra's hand was on his shoulder. She was still in the long dress of the night before, and her eyes were swollen and red. Albus could tell she would not be up for an argument. He ducked under her arm and back toward the staircase obediently. As he reached it, he saw his mother step out of the house and shut the door._

 _'Who's there?' Aberforth whispered, face appearing between two ornate spindles near the top as Albus trudged back up. 'Is it Father?'_

 _'No,' Albus said sadly. He had a very bad feeling from the woman at the door… and he knew whatever news she'd come to give would not be welcome. 'Come on… Mother wants us in bed.'_

 _He pulled on the sleeve of Aberforth's nightshirt. His brother wriggled free, but followed back to their room._

 _'We should get Ari,' Aberforth said, sitting cross-legged on his bed. 'Maybe it's something–'_

 _'No,' Albus said. 'Let's wait for Mother.'_

 _It was a long while before Kendra reappeared. When she did, she looked even blotchier and more tired than before._

 _'We could all do with a lie in, today,' she croaked out at the bedroom door. From her pocket, she pulled a phial. 'I want you each to take a spoonful,' she insisted. 'And get some rest.'_

 _Neither could bring themselves to disappoint her._

 _It was a very odd, very long day. They did not rise until well past luncheon, and even then Ariana never left her room… nor would their mother allow Albus or Aberforth within it. People kept knocking at the door, but Kendra forbade them from opening it. She did not want them in the garden or the front hall, so they spent most of the day in the sitting room – increasingly bored with their quiet games and growing uneasy with their mother's bouts of tears and their sister's continued absence. Percival Dumbledore never came home… and Albus could feel permanence in the absence._

 _After supper, Kendra pulled the two boys into a parlour at the back of the house. She spelled the door with some silent charm before sinking onto a chair._

 _'Where's Father?' Aberforth demanded, the moment Kendra sat._

 _'He has been sent away,' Kendra told them gently. 'To a place called Azkaban. He won't be able to come home.'_

 _Albus' heart began to race. He knew what Azkaban was…_

 _'But it's only for bad men,' Aberforth said, sounding furious. 'That's where they sent Billy Sloan's uncle, when they caught him hurting his auntie – Billy told me! Father's not a bad man – they can't send him there!'_

 _'Your father is not a bad man,' Kendra assured him quietly. 'But he did a very bad thing. And even good people must face consequences, when they do something that hurts someone else.'_

 _'Who did Father hurt?' Albus asked, looking intently at his mother._

 _She swallowed, and seemed to debate the answer._

 _'Come here,' she said, putting her arms out to pull them closer._

 _Aberforth climbed at once to sit in her lap and Kendra wrapped one arm around him, holding him tight. But Albus did not move._

 _'Albus,' her mother beckoned, her other arm still outstretched. Her wedding ring glinted on her finger as she opened and closed her hand._

 _Albus stepped close enough to let her place the hand on his shoulder… but not so close that he was leaning on her. His father was gone…_ He _was the man in their house now. He could no longer act like the child._

 _Kendra sighed. 'Your sister has become… ill,' she said quietly. 'Because of what happened over the summer. Your father was angry, very angry, when he realised. You must never act out of anger, no matter what. It is dangerous. It makes even the most rational of us act foolishly. Revenge is not the same as justice, and exacting our revenge will not return to us what has been taken. It only spreads the cycle of destruction and tragedy.'_

 _'But Father did?' Albus guessed. 'Take revenge?'_

 _'He did,' his mother confirmed, squeezing the hand on his shoulder. 'He was very sad about your sister, and he was not thinking clearly. He forgot this most important lesson, and he went out to find those who hurt Ariana. He was caught by the Ministry, and sent to prison.'_

 _'But that's not fair!' Aberforth wailed. 'They hurt her first! Why doesn't Father just tell the Minister what they did?'_

 _Kendra shushed him, rocking gently. In spite of himself, Albus allowed her to pull him a bit closer too._

 _'This is very important,' she whispered. 'I know you are angry. You will hear many people talk about what your father did. They will not be kind words. And everyone –_ everyone _– who comes to the house to inquire or stops you on the street… they will wish to know why he did it. You yourselves will want to tell them. But you must never do so.'_

 _'Why?' asked Albus curiously._

 _Kendra's eyes were sparkling with tears again. 'Because Ariana is still ill,' she told them quietly. 'And it is very dangerous, her condition. What happened in the sitting room the other day may happen again, and it may get worse. We must be very careful to keep her calm. And we must be sure never to speak of it outside this house. Or they will come and take her away from us.'_

 _Aberforth's eyes were wide. He sniffled, looking up at his mother's face. 'Can't you make her better?' he demanded. 'If she's ill… she needs a potion. They make them for everything.'_

 _'Not for this, my love,' Kendra said sadly._

 _'So… does that mean she'll_ never _get better?' Albus asked, horrified._

 _Kendra began to cry in earnest. Aberforth wept on her lap, burying his face in her high-necked robes. Albus wrapped his small arms around her, and let her tears fall into his shoulder._

 _But he did not let himself cry._

 _The next few days were a whirl of activity, in every room of the house but their sister's – which had been spelled with soothing and silencing charms while she sat out of sight. There were people at the door every hour; craning their necks at the windows and rapping on the wood. Kendra hung high, soundproof curtains and bolted all the doors with unbreakable locks. She forbade visitors of any kind, even the boys' few friends from the neighbourhood. They wrote letters to their acquaintances and sent them up the chimney with the owl, who grew increasingly disgruntled with the sooty portal to the outside world._

 _Then they were packing. Kendra woke them one morning and announced she had secured a house in a new village – a place far away from Mould-on-the-Wold. She gave them enchanted trunks and set them to pack up each room in turn. She met with a shady-looking man with a rickety cart in the dead of night, and paid him a pouch full of gold to carry the goats ahead of them. She herself gathered Percival's things in their own mahogany chest. Albus found her crying as she packed away shoe horns and cuff-links before clasping the lid by hand. He never learned what had happened to that trunk… but it did not make the move with the family._

 _They left very late one evening. The house had been stripped bare – all save the fireplace, where a tiny tin of Floo powder still stood. Their mother came down the steps with Ariana in her arms, spelled into a deep sleep and looking even tinier for the weeks she had been hidden away._

 _Kendra shifted her burden, and passed the tin to Albus._

 _'Go together,' she told the boys. 'Number Seventeen, Godric's Hollow.'_

 _Albus and Aberforth clasped hands, and Albus threw a handful of glittering powder into the flames. 'Number Seventeen, Godric's Hollow!' he said clearly._

 _The brothers stepped into the fire… and were rushed to their new lives in a whirl of green ash._

 _'Turn out the light, Albus!' Aberforth complained, two hours later._

 _The beds were the same, the bedding familiar, though the new room they shared in Godric's Hollow was not half the size of their former home. There were enough bedrooms in the little cottage for each child to have their own… but Albus and Aberforth had not wanted to separate, just yet._

 _'Pull the blanket up,' Albus suggested. 'I'm reading.'_

 _He was indeed holding a thick, ancient tome. The books were the one piece of his father their mother had not disappeared, and the first trunk Albus had raided when they'd arrived._

 _Aberforth groaned and flipped over, propping himself up on an elbow to peer at Albus._

 _'It's not enough light to read anyway,' he grumbled. 'You'll wreck your eyes and need spectacles like old Uncle Wulfric.'_

 _Albus shrugged as he turned a page._

 _'What are you reading?' his brother asked._

 _Albus gave him a slightly irritated glare. 'Nothing, if you keep interrupting,' he groused. 'But the book is on Transfiguration.'_

 _Aberforth wriggled down into the mattress. 'That's stupid,' he opined. 'We've not learned any Transfiguration yet. You can't understand it.'_

 _'I'll be learning in less than a year,' Albus pointed out. 'Once I get to Hogwarts. And you can understand_ anything _, Aberforth. If you want to learn it.'_

 _'You aren't at school yet,' Aberforth countered. 'Why do you care?'_

 _Albus brought his knees up, resting the book against them. He leaned back into the bedframe. 'Remember what Mother said, the day she told us Father can't come back?' he asked softly._

 _Aberforth pushed himself up a bit too, frowning at Albus. He did not speak._

 _'She said there isn't a cure for what's happening to Ariana,' Albus reminded him. 'She said nobody has a way to make her better.'_

 _Aberforth's lip trembled a bit. Albus felt badly for bringing it up._

 _'Nobody knows how,' he said tremulously. 'And if they don't… if she gets worse…' His voice aught a bit in his throat. 'You don't think she'll_ die _, Albus?'_

 _Albus felt his blood chill slightly. But he refused to allow the moment of panic._

 _'But that's the point, Abe,' he said fervently, tapping his fingers on the edges of the book. 'Nobody knows_ yet _. Don't you see? We have to do all this – keep all these secrets, and keep her calm and shut away and everything… because nobody has a cure_ yet. _They haven't invented one. They don't know the right spell, or potion, or… whatever it is that might help. But that doesn't_ have _to mean there isn't one out there. It only means that somebody has to find it.'_

 _Aberforth looked sceptical. 'And you think_ you're _going to find it, do you? Reading all these old books?'_

 _Albus glared again. 'Maybe I will,' he challenged. 'And if not, I'll just have to make it up myself. I'll find a way to save her, no matter what.'_

 _His brother snorted. 'You're ten, Al,' he reminded him. 'However are_ you _going to do it, when even Mother can't?'_

 _Albus flopped back down on the mattress, turning sideways so he was no longer looking at his brother, the book clutched firmly in his arms._

 _'I'm ten_ now _,' he countered to the window. 'But I won't always be. And one day… One day I'm going to be the best there ever was.'_

'Albus?'

He jerked his head up. He had nearly fallen asleep over his paperwork.

Minerva stood framed in the threshold to the office, travelling cloak draped over one arm and a tartan satchel clutched in her hand. She was looking stern and concerned as she fixed him with her green eyes through her spectacles, but the headmaster's heart lightened at the sight as thoroughly as if he had been drenched in the balm of phoenix song. He rose from the desk, striding for her. With an impatient flick of his wrist he sent the cloak and bag flying over to rest on an armchair instead.

'Albus!' she began, now sounding a bit miffed.

He paid her no mind. Instead, he swept her right of the floor in an embrace, making her giggle even through her chastisement. He kissed her before setting her on her feet again.

'You have no idea how wonderful it is to see you home.'

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Five**

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for your review! Oh yes, it is _definitely_ going to be interesting to watch what happens when the Tournament commences… for Harry and Albus, of course, but also for Madame Maxime and Karkaroff… How will _they_ react, knowing as they must that Albus has been taking an interest in Harry beyond a particular favourite pupil? About Bertha: yes, she got a bit of a slip-in mention in Chapter Five. Harry, however, does not remember all of what he dreamed (the POV was Voldemort's, not Harry's), and the name doesn't immediately register. But stay tuned, because we aren't finished with that yet.

Hope you like Chapter Six!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for your reviews! Great to see you back, of course :). I'll try and answer all the points to Chapter Four first, and then Chapter Five. Mmm, yes – so these were initially one long chapter, but I decided to cut it into two. There's some action, but as you noted most of the important bits in these particular chapters are in the explanations and discussions, and the subtleties of the characters' growth. Some of what we've learned in this pair of instalments will be very important later; and I also thought we needed a bit of a break from the very dark and very action-heavy tumult of the first three chapters.

Ok, so Sirius and Karkaroff. Good deduction – Karkaroff did indeed kill Marley. Or, at the least, Sirius believes it was him. Don't worry, you didn't read that before and forget it… this was the first time the reader was made aware of how she died. We knew, of course, that she was gone… even before we get most of the details about her relationship with Sirius. In Part II, Chapter 17, 'The Memories,' Sirius' flashbacks informs us that she died near New Year, 1981 – about a fortnight after the scene in the kitchen we see later and a year after her brother Sean is killed. James and Sirius seemed to have been at whatever battle/location where she died, because James goes to inform her parents when Sirius can't face it; and Sirius goes to Godric's Hollow, where Lily comforts him in his numbness and grief. The circumstances surrounding precisely how she died have been deliberately unexplored, until now. Sirius certainly seems convinced it was Karkaroff who killed her… and that tension will definitely come to a head at some point.

Bathilda Bagshot! I really love her as well. I hadn't intended to make her much of a player beyond her initial little interaction with Harry and Albus at Hallowe'en, but I wound up enjoying her so much I decided to bring her back – first for the Quidditch final, and now here. We'll definitely see more of her in future, and I'd love to have a scene between her and Minerva at some point. As for Remus and Sirius… quite true, living together is going to be a _big_ adjustment. Not only because both have been alone for quite some time, but also because there are a lot of big, emotional hurtles that they (particularly Sirius) have to overcome – which is, of course, the main reason behind Remus' desire to look out for him this summer: to help him to heal. However, hilarity will certainly ensue from the cohabitation. We'll see the start of their time together next instalment.

The Death Eaters. Ah, I'm glad you enjoyed our Malfoy Manor bits. To be honest, I struggled with whether to include some of it. I _really_ hate Lucius Malfoy. However, I also think he (like most of JKR's creations) is a three-dimensional character. He has dreams and desires and motivations and loves that go beyond the simplicities of good and evil. I do not think Malfoy is hesitant about the Dark side or what Voldemort fights for – and he certainly wants Voldemort to succeed. But, having believed him finished, he is also wary of Voldemort's return because he fears the Dark Lord's retribution for his abandonment. He fears his own comeuppance… and also for his family. It is as Sirius and Barty Crouch Jnr remark upon in canon Goblet of Fire – the former Death Eaters who escaped Azkaban and death fled at the World Cup when they saw the mark in the sky, because they more than all the rest fear what Voldemort might do should he return… they know he will be angry with them for their lack of loyalty at his fall; their inability to trust that he would rise again.

On the rest of that portion of the chapter… I'm glad you enjoyed the flashback and the Malfoy family interactions. I felt it was important to see the cruelty among the Death Eaters, and also the lengths to which Severus had to go to gain entry to this exclusive club. Lucius, Cissy and Draco are also a dynamic I wanted to highlight. I have found that many times in fanfiction, authors portray Lucius as cruel or even abusive toward his son and/or wife. I think this is a serious mischaracterisation. Although as I said I find him in many ways a horrible person, to me the one constant in the Malfoy family is that they are Malfoys first, always. I imagine Lucius is a strict father, even domineering, but both he and Narcissa dote on Draco and love each other. When it comes down to it, the love they have for one another outweighs their desire to see Voldemort succeed. I wanted to explore that familial dynamic early on. I am sorry for not including the family dinner this time… but I expect we shall be back at Malfoy Manor in future.

France. So the Agrippa thing will resurface when we explore Alchemy later in this series… this was our little introduction. We also have a teaching moment for Harry; because, of course, Albus is always teaching even when they appear to be on holiday. Haha, I'm glad you liked the little bit about Madame Maxime's punctuality. It's something I actually borrowed from my own former headmistress. Happy you liked the explanation for Beauxbatons arrivals. It _would_ be an exceedingly long train ride if there was some Express zipping about the Continent to gather the attendees, wouldn't it? Of course, much of the remainder of the chapter highlighted differences between the politics and structure of Hogwarts and the French institution. I dearly wanted to give Madame Maxime a softer side… and I took the idea for the orphaned students' living arrangements from the brief scene in the forest at the Quidditch World Cup in canon, where Harry, Ron and Hermione run into French students searching for Madame Maxime. I remember thinking it was an odd sort of moment, given that it was August and term was unlikely to have started, and the students called her 'Madame Maxime,' which made it unlikely they were related rather than pupils of the school. Anyway, I hope that worked. We will see some of that group again once the Tournament begins… and hopefully it will be interesting to watch their reactions to the champions.

Harry and Albus… this was actually a last-minute add. I wasn't sure I wanted to explore this conversation yet, but it felt more natural here in the wake of the visit to France than I thought it would if I delayed. It is from Harry's POV of course, so our insight into Albus' thoughts is scarce… but I hope readers remembered in the recesses of their minds that, for Albus, he is just coming off his discussion with Grindelwald in Chapter Three – and grappling with the idea that Harry may be marked for death whatever he does. For me, it made it more heart-breaking to show his parental side here; and of course Harry has no idea. This conversation is definitely an important step for Harry, and for Albus. It is not news to the reader that Albus has this semi-guardianship: we learned of it in Part I, and then mentioned again in Part II… but for Harry, it is new and very important information. Not least because there will definitely always be a part of Harry that feels an orphan's lot… and Albus serves to ease some of that.

Ok, so the conclusion. I am glad you agreed with its inclusion, though I found it horrible to write and really was not sure whether I ought to keep it. The actual timing of the Horcrux' creation was not my invention… Dumbledore hypothesises that Voldemort originally intended to create his final Horcrux with Harry's death, but that having failed to do so ended up making it with Frank Bryce's. He is correct on the Godric's Hollow bit, but wrong on the final victim. JKR has since indicated that it was actually Bertha's death from whence Nagini was created.

Ah, ok, this was an insanely long response… but thank you for a series of wonderful questions, and I hope you will like Chapter Six!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the scenes in France, and even the darker portions of chapters four and five. I agree on the descriptions of good and evil you proffer here. And though they are sometimes quite disturbing to write, I expect this book and those that follow will see a fair few more dark and/or horrifying scenes, where they are necessary for the story. I'll still try to put a caution in such chapters, to make readers aware. Hope you like the next chapter!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Mostly a light-hearted chapter, yes… until it _really_ wasn't. There is a storm brewing, even when it feels rather calm. Haha, I do apologise, because now I have set you on a course of nerves… you should not concern yourself with my own 'wink' as yet – it will be many months until that comes into play, I expect.

Enjoy chapter six!

 **Me** : Thank you for your review! Yes, so Crouch and Karkaroff have met Harry… that could get interesting in future. I advise that all readers pay close attention to the timeline on this one: we are obviously after the dream/Pettigrew's reunion with Voldemort – which means that at this point, Karkaroff (like Snape and Malfoy) has felt the Dark Mark quicken on his arm. We are also pre-Voldemort's arrival in Britain, which means that Barty Crouch's son remains at home and hidden… as yet unaware that his master's return approaches; and as yet still capable of overhearing information from his father.

Ooh so the original mystery resurfaces! Or, at least, is mentioned. Filch would have been an interesting answer, actually… but it isn't the correct guess here. You'll find out before the conclusion of this book!

The answer on Harry's possible knowledge of the Nagini scene will come at the top of chapter six. I'm glad you liked France, and I hope you will enjoy the next instalment!

 **Undeniably Uzumaki** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the chapter. Perhaps I caused confusion for you by using the word 'Château' rather than 'palace.' The official name for the building is (in English) the Palace of Beauxbatons, but I have always cringed a bit at the descriptor. A 'palace,' technically, refers only to the residence of a sovereign (or occasionally to an archbishop or pope or similarly exalted person). Beauxbatons, as a school, cannot really be a palace regardless of its size. The term 'castle,' meanwhile, does not necessarily denote royal residence at all; neither does 'Château.' It is also a frequently-accepted American-made myth that 'château' refers to a manor house… while some modern châteaux are indeed more of country houses than traditional castles, the term applies to French-style 'castles.' Prague Castle, incidentally, is about the third largest castle in the world by square metre… both Mehrangarh Fort in India and Malbork Castle in Poland are much larger. Edinburgh Castle, on which Hogwarts is roughly modelled, is somewhere around tenth largest. Both Windsor Castle here and Buda Castle in Hungary are larger, and though neither is in the French mould both have the more uniform shape and lower rooflines in the style of Beauxbatons. So it is certainly possible for the French school to be larger overall. I don't know that size is really all that important to this story, but I believe JKR has stated both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have many more students. All the same, I am just going to switch Château to palace/palais to avoid further confusion… regardless of my scruples with the term.

Anyway, the French girl. Harry certainly thought she was pretty, but there is no indication of any feelings toward her. Dumbledore was just being a bit cheeky. We'll get to Karkaroff later, in the chapter in which Harry visits Sirius and Remus. He has very little interaction with him here except to muse that he doesn't like him/trust him much… but there's no real basis for that feeling other than surface observation and instinct. His interest in the tournament and his connection with the other orphaned children simply take precedent in his thoughts for conversation with Dumbledore… and that alone leads to quite a long discussion. Karkaroff just didn't factor in much to those points. Neither did Madame Maxime, really, except in that she represented a different sort of policy than Hogwarts has. But Harry will certainly have opportunity and reason to inquire about Karkaroff later on.

On the Voldemort scene… it is a pretty simple explanation. He wishes to return to Britain, and he does not wish to do so without his sixth and final Horcrux created. He also wants to secure Nagini in a closer way than as a mere pet. I'm sure he _could_ have merely kidnapped another through Wormtail… but Bertha Jorkins is a Ministry witch, she has just provided very useful information, and she is already on the brink of death. Waste not, want not. Voldemort does not care about the lives of others, no… but he also is very concerned with leaving too many traces (e.g. his instructions on the child). He already knows Bertha must be killed – it is much more convenient to use her for this purpose. I am sure had she died, he would have found another option.

Hope you enjoy Chapter Six!

 **Guest Reviewer** : Thank you for your review! I know you said it was your first, so I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts and feedback. :)

Oh yes, Karkaroff is definitely a slippery thing. We'll see him play a fairly big role throughout the summer and into the school term… and Sirius will _definitely_ have a few things to say about it. Lucius, too, will crop up a bit more. I'm not going down the oft-explored Severus and Lucius are best mates or Snape is Draco's godfather type road, but I find it interesting to explore a bit deeper into the dynamics of the Death Eaters – for some of motivations that are more complex than they seem on the surface. Lucius is by no means a good man, but he loves his wife and son even more than he loves the idea of Voldemort's world… and that will come into play.

Attuning to magic and what it means to be able to sense it… the benefits and limits to this; dark and light, etc…. these are complex and very important areas of magic that will definitely be further explored. We've been working toward this for two books now, and I have every intention to explore it further over summer hols and lessons with Dumbledore. I hope you'll enjoy it!

So on Albus… the guardianship thing. We've been skirting the edges of this for a while, so though it's rather a big revelation in some ways to Harry, in others it isn't. Certainly it isn't for the reader, as this was addressed in Part I… but I see what you mean about Harry. My view on it is, it isn't as though Dumbledore was keeping this a big secret, or even that Harry's situation has changed at all (he isn't being 'adopted' or anything)… and yet, as Harry and Albus both indicated, it _does_ make a huge difference to know. Perhaps Harry's reaction should have been more explosive…. But, I think, coming off the meeting with the other orphaned students especially, the most important thing for Harry is that he is wanted and has a home. And he has that – with Albus, and at Hogwarts. As for Albus' teasing about Vivienne… I don't think it was out of character for him, necessarily… but I don't think he was all that serious anyway. There wasn't anything romantic in Harry and Vivienne's encounter; Albus was just playing off Harry having female company his own age.

I'm glad you haven't been off-put by the Death Eater scenes, though I know for others they've been a bit much. There will likely be more as we move forward… where necessary to the plot. Voldemort will be a POV character, but that bit I've plotted out pretty carefully – so hopefully it will not engender frustration with Albus or Harry and co. I don't think it'll ruin the mystery, but I suppose that all depends on the readers! I'll be interested to see how you feel as things heat up.

There is no Voldemort/Bellatrix scheme in this fanfic's future. That I can promise with as much certainty as that there will never be Hermione/Draco, Remus/Sirius, Harry/Draco or Harry/Snape.

I hope you like the continuation, and thanks again for reviewing!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the first few chapters. As a new mum myself, I found it very difficult to write the scene where Voldemort regains a body… but ultimately necessary. I'm glad you found it interesting in spite of the disturbing nature! Snape's story is definitely going to be a key focus of this book – and, I hope, will be interesting to read. I hope you like Chapter Six!


	7. The Heart of the Sea

**A/N:** Apologies that this took a bit longer than I thought for Chapter Seven. It is a monumentally long instalment, so I hope that will be of some comfort after the three-week wait.

Enjoy 'The Heart of the Sea'!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

CHAPTER SEVEN

 **The Heart of the Sea**

'You should have Flooed at once, Albus,' Minerva chastised, as Albus at last finished recounting the tale of what had transpired in the night.

The lengthy conversation had carried them through a light luncheon in the study and several pots of tea. Minerva paused mid-afternoon to crack open the mullioned windows in hopes of tempting in a breeze… for the air in the usually cosy study hung heavy with both heat and anxiety. She wondered that the headmaster had been able to stand it alone.

'There did not seem to be a point, my dear,' Albus said with a small sigh. 'There was nothing you might have done. Had you not been planning to return today, I would of course have told you… but as it was…'

She gave an irritable sniff.

'And you think this is similar to the dream he had several days ago?' Minerva asked. 'The one after which you returned him from Privet Drive?'

'It is, and it is not,' Albus disagreed. 'I think they have a similar origin, yes. But Harry's reaction to this dream was… alarming. Even more alarming than his illness after the dream of three days ago.'

'Screaming and shaking is one thing, Albus… but fever? _Bleeding_?'

Minerva wrung her hands. She was itching to dart back up the stairs again; but she had checked on Harry only minutes after her arrival and he had been fast asleep. She did not wish to wake him from the much-needed peace.

'What are we to do?' she asked nervously.

'Occlumency,' he said. 'It is the only possible answer. And even then, I am unsure.'

'What do you mean?' Minerva demanded.

Albus seemed to hesitate, but she glared him down.

'It is unusual, this connection,' he said. 'For obvious reasons, and less obvious ones. Occlumency is defence of the mind against external penetration… but against _internal_ calamity…'

'What do you mean?' Minerva repeated. 'Voldemort's mind is external to Harry. Unless you think some of this dreaming is a manifestation of his own psyche…'

'Not precisely, no,' Albus said. 'But I do not thing it is so straightforward as a nightmare or vision. It is my belief, Minerva, that some part of Harry's mind remains linked to Voldemort's permanently; that these attacks are coming from within, as much as without. And forming a barrier against that sort of danger may prove much, much more complicated. More difficult even than Occlumency might normally be for a boy not even fourteen.'

Minerva grew more anxious still. Where the room had been stuffy in heat, she now found it slightly too cold.

'I want Harry to start learning this evening,' Albus went on. 'We cannot afford to delay any longer.'

'Yes, of course,' Minerva agreed, frowning. 'But Albus… the fever?'

'It is nearly resolved,' Albus assured her. 'He was better this morning, if not quite fully recovered. I imagine by supper he will be feeling himself.'

'But ought we not to wait a day or two, just to be sure?' Minerva pressed. 'Mind Magic is notoriously draining, and Harry –'

'Mind Magic is taxing,' Albus agreed. 'But not nearly so much so, Minerva, as these dreams that are plaguing him now. He cannot abide this perpetual torment. You did not see…'

His eyes were far away for a moment – looking past her through the mullioned windows as though seeing much more than the rolling hills. Then he shook himself slightly, and the blue eyes focused on her face once again.

'It is a difficult decision,' he said. 'If we move forward too soon, Harry may not be improved enough from his nightmares of the previous evening. But if we delay, he may have yet another attack. And that, I think, is the more dangerous outcome. Neither his body nor his mind would be well up to another dream.'

Minerva watched him in silence, her eyes slightly narrowed as she studied his face, even long after he'd turned to pour yet another pot of tea. There was something more than anxiety and concern in his expression….

Minerva had known Albus Dumbledore for nearly all her life. She could not remember a time when she did not know _of_ him, even before she had come to Hogwarts almost forty-seven years ago. She remembered her mother's tears when they'd listened to news of Gellert Grindelwald's defeat over their old Wizarding Wireless. She had asked Isobel how he had done it; how had this one man finally managed to find a way to fell the dark sorcerer, where so many others had failed.

'Great men are born when they are needed,' Isobel had answered her solemnly. 'Every powerful evil is created with a contemporary force of goodness. Magic, just as life, always deals in balance, mo nighean.'

Minerva had not understood it then. She was not sure, after all the horror and bloodshed she had witnessed over the years, that she even truly believed it now.

She had arrived barely two years after the then-Transfiguration professor's triumph on the continent, and Albus Dumbledore had seemed a god of unmatched power and unparalleled knowledge, with magic that thrummed so strong in his veins the world would be hard pressed to ever see its like again. It sang to her, as the call of all heroes will to children… and she fought with the Sorting Hat for more than five minutes to put her in his House. She'd spent the next seven years clinging to his every word: growing to know him as a teacher; a friend; a mentor. When she was frustrated, he had given her drive. When she showed promise, he nurtured her talent. When she'd suffered devastating heartbreak, he had consoled her.

His power was not like that of Gellert Grindelwald, nor Lord Voldemort. Theirs was a power of domination. A power that dimmed the lights of those around them; that crushed and decimated that which obstructed it, and would roll over the world if given the smallest chance. But Albus… his strength emboldened the magic of others. His flame ignited and fuelled; nurtured, and taught. It was an energy of creation, not destruction. It was what made him such a gift to Hogwarts. And from him, she learned.

So Minerva had always returned, when Albus called. She had joined him as a colleague when he offered her a teaching post – though she was young and fairly untested by the trials of the world. When they made him Headmaster, she had accepted the deputy position over elf-made wine the very same night. When Albus waged war, she'd fought fiercely at his side… through all the death and destruction, all the pain and the loss. He was always sure; always strong. And she found her own strength at his side. Minerva was not modest enough to believe she would have come to nothing had she never met Albus Dumbledore… but she knew it was because of him that she had become who she was.

It had not been romantic. Not for many decades. She'd been in love before; and she'd been married before – to different men. Albus had stood by her through both. It was several years after her husband's passing that anything more grew between them; and yet the change had come about so subtlety, she could hardly pinpoint a moment. All she knew was that even as time had altered them… as mentorship became friendship, friendship birthed companionship, companionship grew to love; Albus had never changed. He was steadfast and sure. He was wise and powerful. He was strong.

Which was why it took Minerva so many long minutes to recognise the emotion in the headmaster's countenance. For in nearly half a century's life with this man, she had rarely seen Albus Dumbledore in such a state.

And with a swoop of horror, she realised.

The unfamiliar shadow… was Fear.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The little front door was thrown ajar before he could even knock.

'I expected you seventeen minutes ago, Albus,' Bathilda complained, opening the door just enough to allow him past before slamming it again and tapping each lock with her wand.

'Apologies. It has not been a day for keeping to schedule, unfortunately.'

'Albus?'

Remus appeared from around the corner, a shaggy black dog at his side. The dog took a moment to watch Bathilda fasten the final lock, then straightened up to his usual form. Albus smiled.

'I trust you are both keeping well?' he asked, his gaze on Sirius.

'Fine,' Sirius answered. His voice, however, was a bit shorter than Albus anticipated… and the headmaster did not miss the quelling look Remus seemed to shoot in his friend's direction.

'How's Harry?' Sirius continued before Albus could comment.

The headmaster hesitated. 'He is… well enough, at the moment,' he hedged. Sirius' eyes darkened perceptively, but Albus held up a hand. 'I shall explain later,' he insisted. 'But we should make this journey forthwith – if you are ready?'

He glanced inquiringly at Remus as well, who nodded.

'I'll fetch the bags,' he offered, already making for the stairs. Sirius, still glowering slightly, followed in his wake.

Albus turned back to Bathilda. 'I thank you most sincerely, Batty. Your hospitality has been more than accommodating. I know I have put you in a precarious position…'

'Tosh, Albus,' Bathilda insisted, waving an age-spotted hand. 'I was happy to do it. You're sure you shan't stay to tea?'

'Not today,' Albus declined with a small smile. 'I would prefer to get this business sorted quickly. I must be back at the castle by nightfall. But perhaps I shall bring Harry by before the summer is out. Or else you would be welcome at Hogwarts, should you prefer to pay a call at the school.'

Bathilda's eyes sparkled. 'Either would be lovely,' she agreed. But she frowned a bit as well. 'Remus tells me Harry has been ill,' she recalled in concern.

Albus inclined his head. 'He is much improved,' he assured her. 'But that is the main reason I do not wish to delay this outing – I need to be back at the castle at a reasonable hour this evening.'

The younger men appeared at the base of the staircase at that moment: Remus gripping his shabby leather trunk, and Sirius a borrowed case from one of the McGonagall nieces.

'All sorted?' Albus asked politely.

They gave their consent, and Albus pulled an ordinary eagle quill from the folds of his robes. Sirius and Remus both shuffled forward to place a finger on the feather.

'Shell Cottage,' Albus murmured softly.

And the three of them were whisked away from Bathilda's cosy sitting room in a whirl of colour and light.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They landed in sync on a cliff overlooking a swirling, steel-grey sea.

It was not a particularly high cliff… but still, nobody would wish to brave the drop to the rocky beach below. It was a clear, warm day, and the crash of the waves was gentle and soothing beneath them. The hills were smattered with sea lavender and high grasses, with the occasional dip in the cliff face where one might find safe passage to the shore. To both left and right, as far as he could see, there was no sign at all of human habitation – except for a quaint, whitewashed cottage a stone's throw away from their spot, set a bit back from the crag. The late afternoon sun gleamed off a slate roof, and wisps of fine smoke from the chimney suggested a fire already blazed in the unseen hearth.

'Come,' Albus beckoned.

He led the way toward the cottage along what Sirius though might once have been a path, though tall sea grass had largely overgrown it. The blades were surprisingly strong. They tickled at Sirius' ankles and knees even through his long robes. As they approached nearer the cottage, Sirius could see the whitewashed stone was embedded with shells and bits of sea glass. It was a secluded sort of place… but the constant ebb and flow of the sea against the shore seemed to evoke as much tranquillity as it did loneliness. Sirius thought it was beautiful.

Eventually, the wild, overgrown path was replaced by weathered stone. Albus led them up a narrow walk to a rounded door that matched the blue of the sky. It opened at his touch with a muted creak.

'Welcome,' the headmaster said quietly, 'To Shell Cottage.'

The house was small, though roomier than it had seemed from the cliff. The ground floor was open and airy, the little entryway spilling into a sitting room to the left and a cosy dining alcove to the right. The floor had been laid with broad boards of a very light shade, looking rather as if it were a conglomeration of driftwood that had just happened to align in such a way. Nearly all the furniture had been chosen in varying hues of white, cream and blue.

Dumbledore led them through the front section of the house and into a second parlour in the back. This room had windows that stretched nearly floor to ceiling, offering dazzling views of the sea below. Sirius felt almost as if the cottage itself were a part of the ocean. A door in the right-hand corner led out onto a veranda, from whence he could just see a rickety-looking staircase dipping out of sight, presumably down the cliff itself.

'Albus – the windows?' Remus asked, sounding apologetic as he bit his lip nervously.

The headmaster shook his head. 'There is nothing to fear,' he assured him. 'This cottage is well warded. It cannot be seen or approached, except by those who I myself allow through the wards.'

'What is this place?' Sirius asked in puzzlement. 'You said it was yours, but…'

'I have never lived here,' Albus said. 'I had it built – or, I should say, Minerva and I had it built – in the mid-1980s. We thought, perhaps, a place away from the castle… but of course we are so rarely away from the castle. We have never spent more than a night or two here a year in the decade or so we have owned Shell Cottage, but I could never bring myself to part with it. One never knows what the future may bring, and it did seem prudent to have somewhere to go where nobody was the wiser.'

'Where are we?' Sirius queried. 'It doesn't look like Scotland; and the sea did not feel… familiar.'

'No,' Albus agreed. 'We are on the outskirts of Tinworth, in Cornwall. The main village is about ten miles from here.' He turned a bit so their eyes were locked, and seemed to read the unstated in Sirius' own. 'This is not the sea that harbours Azkaban,' he added gently.

'No,' Sirius said quietly.

'There are several bedrooms on the first floor,' Albus continued, indicating the direction from which they had come. 'You may have whichever you choose, though I do recommend the southerly rooms myself. Minerva has seen to it that the kitchen is stocked, and we shall have it replenished from the castle at regular intervals. I would prefer you did not have to go into the village. The wards run with the property. It is bordered in the front by a garden wall… you may not have seen on our arrival, but it is not difficult to note. The property extends nearly a mile to the left and right of the cottage.'

'And the sea?' asked Remus.

'Everything within that radius on the shore is also part of the cottage land,' Albus explained. 'Stretching into the water, it ranges about half a mile. I cannot, of course, guarantee protection should you venture off the property… but you should be quite safe if you remain within its borders.' He paused, his eyes focusing on Sirius again. 'And I cannot impress upon you, Sirius, how important it is to do so, even in your animagus form. We cannot know what might have been shared by now and with whom – not with Peter Pettigrew still at large. Though I doubt the Ministry will have been made aware of your extra abilities… I do not think it advisable to test the theory.'

Sirius gave a curt nod to show he understood, but the warning had reawakened other concerns. Temper fought with sense as he grappled with how to raise this apprehension with Albus yet not appear ungrateful for everything the old man had done for him.

'Thank you, headmaster,' Remus was saying, oblivious to Sirius' internal struggle. 'It's very generous of you.'

'Not at all,' Albus replied with a smile. 'I hope you will be comfortable. I shall give you a few days to settle in, and then perhaps visit with Minerva and Harry. I know he will be anxious to see you both.'

'Is there anything we must do to key to the –' Remus started to ask… but Sirius interrupted. The mention of his godson had given him the final push.

'I wanted a word, Albus,' he said – a note of anger colouring his tone, despite all his efforts not to show it.

The headmaster turned, raising an eyebrow.

'Karkaroff,' Sirius ground out.

Albus sighed, but he did not appear surprised. 'Yes,' he said heavily. 'I take it you have heard he will be at Hogwarts this autumn.'

'How could you?' Sirius demanded. 'Karkaroff! KARKAROFF! Of all people, _you_ should know what he's done… _who_ he is!'

'I do,' the headmaster said quietly. 'It is one of the reasons I am hopeful that Alastor can be prevailed upon to –'

'With or without Alastor, how could you let _him_ through the gates of that castle?' Sirius refuted. 'He was one of _them_ , Albus. One of the inner circle itself. He _tortured_ children, he _raped_ women, he _KILLED_ dozens… and not just those who fought. He killed innocents, just like the rest of them. He killed _her_ , Albus!'

'I know,' Albus said, more heavily still. 'You know I spoke against dealing with him… but I do not control the Ministry, and never have done.'

'But you do control the school!' Sirius countered. 'Just as you _do_ control so much of the world, Albus! How can you let that man prowl amongst your students? How could you permit him near _Harry_?'

'Karkaroff is head of Durmstrang,' Albus pointed out. 'Of course I have reservations, Sirius. But he would not dare to harm a student – my own _or_ another – in front of me… and I cannot punish Durmstrang students because of their headmaster's sins. Any more than I would wish my own students to fail for my own faults.'

'He will have taught them in the same ways,' Sirius muttered. 'You'd do better not to involve his school at all. The rumours are all over – Bathilda herself told me. He is training _all_ his students in the Dark Arts. You would have students like _that_ at Hogwarts?'

'Children cannot help the actions of their teachers. Just as they cannot help the family to which they are born. You know this.'

'It does not change the _facts_ , Albus!' Sirius argued.

'To write off thousands of witches and wizards because of one man's miscalculated vision would be a mistake, Sirius,' Albus insisted. 'We are better than that. We must be. The only way children learn to discount the prejudices of their elders is through exposure to a better way. I hope my own students will take some lessons from their international peers; just as I hope the international students will learn from ours.'

'He killed Marley,' Sirius said, his voice like ice. 'He struck her down, Albus, right in front of me. Blasted her full of holes… like she was nothing more than discarded rubbish. She died in pieces in my arms.'

'Sirius,' Remus started, stepping toward him; but Sirius dodged him, keeping his gaze on Albus.

'That was the worst bit, you know,' he continued harshly. 'The killing curse is fast. They say it might even be painless… But what he did, that was worse. I held her. I watched her die. It wasn't painless. It wasn't quick. It was agony, Albus, to her very last breath… and _he_ did that.'

Albus' eyes were deeply sad. 'One day, Sirius, all men must answer for their crimes. I understand –'

'YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND!' Sirius disagreed – and now, he was shouting. 'You do NOT understand. Don't say that – how _can_ you say that? Until you're sitting there: staring into the eyes of someone you love; watching them die in front of you; telling them everything's going to be fine, when you know it's not; when you know there is _nothing_ you can do to help… Until they're ripped away from you – forever… You _cannot_ understand! And then – the person who does that goes free… breathes the air; eats, and drinks, and laughs, and _lives_ …'

'I understand, Sirius,' Albus repeated.

And there was something in his expression that forced Sirius to cut himself off, though it did not abate his anger. A deep-seated, all-consuming pain; one that Sirius recognised.

'I do understand,' Albus said again. 'And I promise you, I do not forget. I do not forget Marlene McKinnon's face, just as I will never forget each and every face that we have lost in this fight. This war is not over, Sirius. And I am much mistaken if Karkaroff does not fear its resumption more than all others who once followed that path. It is, after all, thanks to him that several of his onetime comrades rot in the bowels of Azkaban prison now… and I am sure that they, too, do not forget.'

There was a long moment of silence. A clock on a white marble mantle began to chime. Albus glanced at it, frowning slightly.

'We ought to get on,' he said, clearing his throat a bit. 'I must return to Harry.'

'Is he alright?' Sirius asked. Tension still churned in his chest… but he let it lie, for the moment. 'Has something else happened?'

'Remus has told you about the dream?' Albus inquired. Sirius nodded grimly.

'It has been a continuing problem,' the headmaster acknowledged. He explained about Harry's second dream of the summer, and his own plans for renewing the study of Occlumency. When he finished, Sirius' brow was furrowed.

'That is advanced magic for one so young… will he be able to do it?'

'I am not certain,' Albus admitted. 'But I think, on the whole… it is possible.'

'He can do it,' Remus agreed with a stiff inclination of his head. 'Harry is persistent, when he knows he must master something. I remember.'

Sirius was less sure, but he nodded all the same. 'And when can I see him, Albus?'

'Within a week or so, I should think,' Dumbledore said with a renewed smile. 'Once I am sure he has recovered, and you and Remus have had a chance to settle in here. Now, come – both of you.'

He gestured them toward the marble hearth. It was a handsome piece of carved marble, perhaps the only thing that seemed a bit too ornate for a cottage on the sea. As they drew right up to it, Sirius saw that the carvings depicted what appeared to be several dozen dancing nymphs. In the centre was an imposing-looking, bearded man, seated upon a high-backed throne. In his left hand, the carved man held a trident. The weapon was the only glint of gold among the white stone.

Albus traced the length of the trident with one long finger, muttering a low incantation. Quite suddenly, it began to glow. The man's stone fingers released and the weapon floated right out of the hearth – widening and lengthening until it was longer than a broomstick. Albus grasped it in his own hand before it could clang to the floor.

'A bit melodramatic,' he conceded with a mischievous glint in his eye. 'Alas. At times, I find it difficult to help myself.'

He adjusted his grip on the staff so that the three points became chest-height for the others.

'Your wand hand,' he requested, lifting his own. Sirius and Remus both mirrored the motion.

'You will need to place your palm on one of the auxiliary spears,' he told them. He hovered his own over the middle one. Again, the others followed. 'When I begin the incantation, you must press hard on the tip of the point, until it breaks the skin.'

Sirius could not help his grimace of revulsion, but Albus smiled.

'You will not bleed,' he assured him quietly. 'But this enchantment requires a connection to the magical core.'

Wondering in a back corner of his mind whether he was not mad in following these directions without further question, Sirius prepared to impale his left palm. Albus took a moment to ensure they were ready, then began to chant in a low, musical rhythm.

Sirius and Remus acted simultaneously – their eyes on the headmaster's own palm. Sirius pressed hard on the point of the spear, and felt it sear into the centre of his hand. Where he expected pain, however, there was nothing but pressure… and an odd sort of thrum that seemed to spread through his entire body. Many etched runes along the golden weapon began to glow orange as Albus' chanting continued. The vibration within and without grew stronger and stronger until – with a sudden surge of powerful magic – two new runes were burned into the staff of the trident, and Sirius felt the enchantment's hold release them.

The glow subsided at once. Albus nodded, and all three of them released their hands. Sirius considered his. If there was a mark left by its recent impalement, it was not a visible one.

'Good,' Albus said in satisfaction, fingering the new additions to the trident. 'You will be protected thoroughly, now.'

'This is odd,' Sirius noted, jerking his head at the weapon as the headmaster moved to the hearth to shrink and replace it. 'I've never seen wards anchored in such a way. It's almost always stones…'

Albus nodded. 'Rune stones are traditional,' he agreed. 'And commonly a good choice for warding. They are sturdy, and strong, and easily buried or concealed without running the chance that someone might stumble upon or alter the runes. But wards need not be grounded in stone; any more than wands need be crafted from unicorn hair, phoenix feather or dragon heartstring. Many materials can harness magic – and sometimes the less traditional choice is also the more powerful one.'

'And, sometimes, the dramatic is a bit more amusing,' Remus guessed shrewdly.

Albus chuckled, but he did not comment. He set his palm again over the trident, sealing it back into its carved protector's grasp.

'Well, I had best be off,' he decided, straightening up and adjusting his robes. 'It is getting quite late already.'

Sirius looked round in some surprise. The warding ritual had not felt long… and yet, he suddenly realised that it must have been hours. The parlour was now lit only by the glow of the fire itself and the flickering flames of a smattering of candles. The many high windows had become a wall of mirrors – reflecting the room back at them. Sirius still found it odd to see his own reflection. Though he knew he looked a damn sight better than he had done during his long stint in Azkaban, he was much older in the reflection than he remembered being. The prison had taken more than years.

'I shall see you in a few days' time,' the headmaster added, doffing his hat and drawing Sirius from his thoughts. 'Be well.'

He swept from the room, and Sirius and Remus were left with their reflections.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The monitoring charms the headmaster had set over Harry's bedchamber began to stir in the late afternoon. Minerva hurried up the staircase at their alert, in time to see Harry tossing the blankets aside, his brow furrowed in sleepy confusion. She bustled over to his side, testing his forehead with the back of her hand as he fumbled the nightstand for his glasses. She was relieved to find it cool.

'How are you feeling?' she asked softly.

'Fine,' Harry replied, rubbing slightly at his eyes. He pushed himself up in the bed as she took her hand back again, looking muddled as he shot a glance at the window. Afternoon sunlight glinted gold off the panes. 'What time is it?'

'Nearly tea,' Minerva informed him with a small smile. 'We didn't want to wake you.'

Harry groaned. 'I was going to visit with Hagrid this afternoon,' he complained. 'And… I'm _starving_ ,' he added, as his stomach gave a very loud grumble.

Minerva chuckled. 'Well, I dare say there will be enough daylight yet should you wish to pay Hagrid a call after eating something,' she assured him.

He pushed off the bed without another word of protest, hurrying so quickly for the door she had to scramble to match him. Minerva ordered a light tea for herself, and a much larger meal for Harry. He was already halfway through wolfing it down before he seemed to register Albus' absence.

'He has gone to settle Sirius and Remus into their new location,' she explained at Harry's delayed inquiry. 'The process may last into the evening, but he should return in time for a late supper.'

'Right,' said Harry. He polished off the remainder of his chicken pie, and hopped up off the sofa. 'Can I go and see Hagrid, then?'

'May you go,' Minerva corrected automatically. 'And yes… though you might want to change out of your pyjamas first.'

Harry looked down in some surprise, his cheeks flushing. 'Er… yes,' he agreed. 'I'll just be a few…'

He ran off up the staircase, Minerva laughing openly as she watched. It took him not five minutes to change, and he tapped his foot in obvious impatience as she finished off her own tea.

'We'll need to take another walk into the village,' she mused, eying the good inch of ankle that was showing above the tapping trainer. 'You've grown a great deal of late.'

Harry shrugged, still tapping. 'It's not a big deal,' he said. 'I'm used to –'

'You will have clothes that fit properly,' Minerva interrupted before he could say it. 'I'll speak to Albus tonight.'

'Yes, ma'am,' he relented.

 _Tap, tap, tap…_

'Relax, child,' she chastised. 'Or I shall give you a Calming Draught.'

'I don't need another potion,' Harry groaned half-heartedly. 'But I can't help it. I've missed nearly the whole day already! Hagrid will be miffed… he'll think I'm ignoring him.'

'We informed him earlier that you were having a lie-in today.'

'A lie-in…' Harry repeated, shaking his head. Minerva smiled.

'It is only the beginning of the summer,' she reminded him. 'There will be plenty of opportunity to visit with Hagrid over the course of the next two months.'

'When I'm not in lessons,' Harry pointed out.

'Ah,' Minerva agreed with a nod. 'I had nearly forgotten. Albus wishes you to begin with Occlumency again this evening, so long as you are still feeling well after supper.'

'He mentioned that this morning,' Harry remembered.

'And Severus has sent a missive as well,' Minerva added, reaching into a pocket of her robes for the scroll. 'He intends to resume his own lessons with you tomorrow.'

'Already?' Harry whinged. 'That's not on. I wasn't even supposed to be back yet! What's he playing at?'

Minerva gave a ghost of a smile, but she did not indulge him. The memory of Albus' face this morning still haunted her.

'I believe he will work only your wandless magic for the remainder of the week,' she told him, in a small effort to soften the blow. 'So you will have additional time to ready yourself for Potions. I myself will refrain from burdening your timetable until Monday next.'

'That's kind of you,' Harry mumbled sarcastically. Minerva shot him a stern look. 'Sorry,' he backtracked. 'I didn't mean it the way it sounded.'

'I am sure you didn't,' Minerva lied. She set aside her empty tea cup. 'Well, if you still wish to go out into the grounds, I shall walk you to meet Hagrid. We'd better get on. Already it has been a long day.'

'Not hardly,' Harry disagreed. 'Mine only just started.'

'Well, mine has been nearly twelve hours already,' she informed him. 'And the first four spent with my family… not an altogether relaxing experience, I assure you.'

'I'd love to meet them, sometime,' Harry said.

She sighed. 'I dare say you shall,' she acknowledged with an affected shudder. 'And when you do, mind you remember I warned you. Now come along – I expect the evening will be even longer.'

She chivvied him toward the revolving staircase. Harry gave an impish grin. 'Yeah, well, I would think nights are easier on you than the mornings… Cats are nocturnal after all, aren't they?'

Minerva aimed a cuff at his ear and he dodged easily, laughing as he made for the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry had an enjoyable visit with Hagrid. The gamekeeper seemed to have taken a particular liking to Buckbeak – the hippogriff who had almost been beheaded the previous term. Though Buckbeak's companions had been returned to some reservation in Wales, Hagrid had been allowed to keep this favourite creature at Dumbledore's consent, and he and Harry spent an entertaining hour down at his paddock. Harry enjoyed tossing dead polecats as high as he could to watch Buckbeak tear through the air to catch them… though he did not acquiesce to Hagrid's entreaty for a second flight on the hippogriff's back himself. Minerva had not been overly chuffed the first time, he told the gamekeeper. He left out that he himself hadn't been all that comfortable without the familiar grip of a broomstick beneath him.

They spent the remainder of the visit discussing the Quidditch World Cup. When night had truly begun to fall, Hagrid walked him back up to the castle. Hagrid meandered into the Great Hall for a bite of supper, but Harry – seeing that neither Minerva nor Albus appeared to be in attendance and not keen to share supper with Filch or Snape – ducked back out and trudged up the staircase instead. He found his Head of House seated at Dumbledore's usual desk, comparing what looked like a green-inked list with a pile of post beside her. Sidling closer, he recognised the envelopes.

'Hogwarts letters?' he asked, lifting one of the pile. 'It's a bit early, isn't it? I thought the Defence professor wasn't a sure thing yet?'

'He isn't,' Minerva confirmed with a huff, scowling as she initialled the parchment. 'Which means we probably won't be able to send out booklists until late yet _again_ … but visiting the Muggle-born students takes a great deal of coordination, and we prefer to give the families time to adjust. We may have to deliver their letters separately from the booklists.'

Harry considered the letter he held with new interest. 'Emma Dobbs,' he read off the front. 'She's a Muggle-born witch?'

'Indeed,' Minerva agreed, scribbling the parchment again.

Harry considered the pile of envelopes. It was a fairly high stack. 'Are all these letters for Muggle-born kids?' he asked. 'It's more than I would have thought.'

'It varies,' Minerva said, 'But in any given year, twenty to twenty-five percent of our students are usually Muggle-born.'

Harry plopped himself into a chair opposite, still clutching Emma Dobbs' invitation to the Wizarding World. The number surprised him, though when he thought about it in relation to his own class, he supposed it made sense.

'And you have to visit them all?' he asked aloud.

'We share the responsibility among the staff,' she informed him, setting the quill back in its ink pot at last. 'The Heads of House always pay calls to the families. The rest of the staff take it in turns, for the most part. This year, Professors Sinistra and Burbage and Madam Pomfrey will assist. We try to spread the duties out over a few weeks.'

Harry nodded slowly. 'What happens if they don't want to come?' he asked curiously. 'I mean… Hogwarts isn't mandatory, is it? Albus says some families might choose to teach their children at home instead, or send them abroad. But… Muggle families wouldn't be able to teach magic. So what happens then?'

Minerva sighed. 'A very complicated problem,' she admitted. 'Though, luckily, also very rare. We are usually able to persuade even reluctant parents that Hogwarts is the best place for their child. We haven't had a Muggle-born child whose parents refused to allow attendance at Hogwarts in over a decade, but it has happened before. It always causes a headache. We are legally bound to inform the Ministry of the situation, and they will assign someone to watch over the child.'

'Because of the Statute of Secrecy?'

'Yes,' Minerva agreed. 'In part. Magical children in the Muggle world are always a risk, of course, because they cannot often control their powers. The Ministry official is also supposed to ensure that the child comes to no harm from their family or others because of their magical abilities.'

Harry, remembering Albus' explanation of what had happened to his sister, nodded grimly. 'What usually happens?' he asked.

'In most cases, the parents can be persuaded to reconsider at a later date,' she told him. 'Almost always, the child will be accepted for Sorting the following year instead, and the situation resolves. The Ministry allows twelve months for parents to recognise the necessity of Hogwarts. If they do not, then an application will be made by the magical child's caseworker for permission to bewitch the child's parents so that he or she might be permitted to attend school. It is a last resort, of course. We do not like to manipulate families out of the ability to make their own free choices… but it is better than the danger involved should the Muggle-born student not gain a magical education.'

Harry nodded pensively. Minerva, meanwhile, glanced at her watch. 'Goodness, it's coming on nine,' she fretted. 'I did think Albus would have been back by now… perhaps we ought to head down to dinner without him.'

Harry grimaced. 'Snape and Filch are there,' he told her. 'Maybe we could just –'

But the door opened at precisely that moment, and the headmaster himself entered the room. He shook off his travelling cloak, giving both Minerva and Harry a smile. His eyes raked appraisingly over Harry, and he nodded in approval.

'You are looking well,' he said. 'I must admit I am relieved.'

Harry grinned. 'I'm fine,' he assured him.

'We were just discussing supper,' Minerva said, rising from the desk. 'Would you care to go down to the Hall, or would you prefer I sent for something to be taken up here?'

'The others are nearly finished,' Albus replied, floating the cloak toward the bannister with a hand. 'Perhaps here would be better. It has been a long afternoon.'

So the three of them dined in comfort, seated on the headmaster's sofas. Harry asked after Sirius and Remus, and Albus consented to bring him round to visit in a week or so. Minerva told amusing stories of the time she'd spent with her nieces, and Harry recounted his afternoon with Hagrid in the grounds. At last, the roast had been finished. Minerva drifted off for her own quarters to continue the scheduling of visits to the Muggle-born students, and Albus sent Harry up to wash and change for bed.

Instead of speaking in Harry's bedchamber, as they had the first time the headmaster had taught him Occlumency, tonight they met back in the study. Harry was nervous, but determined. Albus motioned for him to take a seat, and surveyed him over the tips of his fingers.

'This magic will be similar to what you have already learned about Occlumency,' Albus began, 'And yet vastly different. Thus far, we have been working to calm your mind into a meditative state: clearing it, for want of a better phrase. You will still need that basic premise for more advanced Occlumency. Now, however, you will take a more active role in the process. You will be working to keep your mind closed – impenetrable to external attack. This is less an exercise in distracting one's thoughts, and much more an act of sealing them. Do you understand?'

'Not really,' Harry admitted.

Dumbledore smiled. 'Of course you do not,' he acknowledged. 'Let me try another way.'

He poured them each a cup of tea as he spoke, and offered out a tray of lemon cakes. Harry took one while he listened.

'When you are suffering what we might call a usual nightmare,' the headmaster said, 'the dream is a manifestation of some trail of thought in your mind, as all dreams are. It is our subconscious bringing to the forefront something in our memory, or our imagination. Oftentimes when we have undergone situations of great stress or fear, these thoughts can resurface for us in the dark and quiet… sometimes so subtle that we do not even note their presence. When we sleep, our minds relax. The result can be that those disturbing thoughts or memories manifest in our dreams, taking root in our minds while our conscious awareness can no longer supress them.'

Harry nodded. 'That's why we started the Occlumency, when I first came.'

'Precisely,' Albus agreed. 'Basic Occlumency is similar to meditation. It forces our mind into a state of relaxation and calm, and focuses us on one constant, familiar image. Distracts us, in other words, from our imaginings and fears. For you, the Quidditch pitch has worked well for this purpose. You found it easier to keep bad dreams at bay when you focused on the image of the pitch before sleep?'

'Yes,' Harry agreed. 'That is… for the most part. Until lately.'

Albus nodded. 'That is because that level of Occlumency works well against such ordinary nightmares. We are most prone to vivid dreams when we first drift off… and Occlumency in such a basic form can keep our mind distracted long enough to surpass that dangerous threshold. The dreams you have been experiencing of late, however, are not truly dreams at all.'

'No,' said Harry, frowning as he swallowed his bite of lemon cake. 'They're like… visions, or something. You said they were real…'

'I did, and I do believe they are,' Dumbledore confirmed. 'But they are not truly visions, either. Not in the way we usually invoke the term, at any rate. They are of the present, not the past or the future… and it is not my belief that you see them from a third-party view. Visions, as they appear to Seers or through spellwork or scrying magics, do not function so.'

Harry's frown deepened. 'I… I don't understand, sir.'

Dumbledore took a deep breath. He set aside his teacup, which Harry noted – very uncharacteristically – remained undrunk. The headmaster peered at Harry with that familiar, penetrating stare over the tips of his fingers… and, for the first time, Harry was almost afraid to match the gaze.

'When we spoke just after you returned to the castle several days ago,' Albus said quietly, 'After your dream on Privet Drive… I told you that I believed you are having these nightmares because of a connection forged between yourself and Lord Voldemort on the night he attacked you in Godric's Hollow. At the time, I was uncertain precisely how it was you were witnessing these events, though I had my own suspicions. Now… I am all but certain you are seeing these visions through Voldemort's own eyes.'

Harry felt a thrill of dread course through him; and no small amount of panic.

'That's… but that's impossible,' he choked out hoarsely. 'I mean… I _saw_ him, at the end of that last one. I could see him – being carried off by Wormtail. How could I have seen that, if I was seeing it through his eyes?'

Dumbledore had not taken his gaze from Harry's face. His expression was very hard to read.

'Because,' he said at last, 'Voldemort has also forged another connection. This one, unlike that with you, quite deliberate. Your extreme illness was a reaction to its very creation, unless I am much mistaken. At the only real moment you saw Voldemort himself – that moment when Wormtail carried him – you were viewing the scene through the eyes of another creature, one over which Voldemort now maintains some level of possession at all times.'

'The snake,' Harry whispered, surprising even himself with how easily the answer came to mind. 'That's why you asked me about where it was!' he remembered suddenly, giving Dumbledore a rather accusing glare. 'You knew.'

'I… suspected,' Albus confessed. 'When I realised the significant differences between your illness last night and your reaction on Privet Drive. And, in particular, when you described your own observations and the effect of your Occlumency on the dream.'

'What effect?' Harry asked, still a bit rancorous.

'You said yourself, Harry,' Albus reminded him, 'That parts of this event _were_ more shrouded – more difficult to see. It is my belief that the Occlumency you were practising, and perhaps the magics of the castle herself, aided you for a time. It is possible you might not have woken at all, or that if you had your physical symptoms would have been much reduced. When Voldemort created the snake his companion in such a terrible manner, however… the act was too much for either your mind or your body. You could not have hoped to counter it.'

'What do you mean, created the snake his companion?' Harry echoed. 'What exactly did he _do_ to the snake?'

But Dumbledore shook his head. 'That, my dear child, is not something I can answer. Not yet. You will know, one day. But you are –'

'I'm too _young_ to know?' Harry finished for him, the rancour growing stronger. 'This is happening to _me_ , and you won't even tell me what it was I –'

The headmaster held up a hand. 'It is partly to do with your age, yes,' he confirmed, unapologetic. 'But that is not my primary concern. Until you can learn to shield your mind… _truly_ shield your mind, such that we can be sure it is safe from Lord Voldemort – I cannot tell you. The information would not be safe.'

'What do you mean?' Harry asked, still sour. 'I'm not going to _tell_ anyone, if that's what your worried about. I won't even tell Ron and Hermione if you don't want me to.'

'It is not your ability to keep secrets that concerns me,' Albus replied. 'It is the safety of your mind. Until you can master Occlumency at a much higher level than what we have worked for thus far, your mind remains vulnerable to external penetration. If Voldemort should attempt to legilimise you and learn that I am aware of this magic he has invoked; that I – or that _you_ – understand what it is… the safety of our entire world could be put at stake.'

'But… but Voldemort isn't _here_ ,' Harry said stubbornly. 'How can he possibly legilimise me, when he's not even in the country?'

'The connection between your minds, Harry,' the headmaster explained softly. 'Right now, it is allowing you to glean insight into Voldemort's thoughts; allowing you to perform something close to Legilimency on him. I think it quite likely the connection will also work in the opposite direction. Which means, should Voldemort discover it…'

'He could read my mind, wherever he is?' Harry finished, disgusted.

'Precisely,' Albus agreed. 'Which brings us back, of course, to Occlumency.'

He straightened a bit in the chair. Harry mirrored the action unconsciously.

'The goal of Occlumency is to create a barrier in the mind,' the headmaster explained. 'Like so many forms of wandless magic, this can be a very individual process. Some Occlumens choose to defend by visualising a physical barrier: a wall, a moat, perhaps a ring of fire. Others select an emotion, or lack thereof. They might choose to invoke a powerful sense of protection, or even nothing at all. Passivity – blankness – is one highly popular way to shield the mind. You must experiment with different methods until you find that which feels the most natural for you. Because the magic is individual, there is no singular best way. And, of course, whichever barrier you choose must be something you can keep in place constantly.'

'Constantly?' Harry repeated, frowning. 'How do people function through the day, if they're always trying to visualise a ring of fire or something?'

Albus chuckled. 'It becomes easier in time,' he assured him. 'After a while, you will not even notice you are shielding any longer. The mind is like a muscle… we can train it to do something, and eventually it will repeat the motions unasked. True Occlumens do not have need to continue consciously enforcing their shields as they function through their daily activities – their minds have grown accustomed to the protection.'

'So I should use this…er… barrier, then? Instead of the pitch?'

'You may use both,' Dumbledore said. 'Sometimes, for sleep, the best method is to use your shield as a barrier, but anchor your thoughts behind it in the safe space you have created for yourself. In this way, you are both protected and calmed for rest. But that is a more advanced coupling of Occlumency techniques. For now, I want you to focus in these lessons on finding, constructing and holding your barrier.'

'What do you mean, behind it?' Harry queried.

'The barrier functions to protect the mind,' said Albus. 'What you will be doing, essentially, is concealing your conscious thoughts and memories behind the barrier you create. The 'space,' I suppose you might say, in front of the barrier should be kept empty… so that someone attempting to penetrate your mind finds only the darkness, and can go no further than the barrier allows. Over time, gifted Occlumens might learn to project chosen thoughts or memories beyond the barrier; or alternatively to suppress _only_ certain thoughts and memories – allowing the Legilimens to see only what the Occlumens wishes them to know. That is the most advanced and difficult part of Occlumency; for it can give carefully selected information – both true, and false. Great Occlumens can do this without even revealing the barrier itself.'

'Er…'

'It is a lot to absorb,' Albus said with a smile. 'But you will get there.'

'Right,' said Harry doubtfully. 'Well… how do I start?'

'Close your eyes,' the headmaster suggested. Harry followed the direction. 'Now, attempt to empty your mind,' Albus instructed softly. 'Not to relaxation, precisely… try instead to store your thoughts, until the only thing you are conscious of is my own voice. Tuck everything else away… out of sight.'

Harry tried to obey. It was difficult. 'What about a barrier?' he asked, cracking one eye for a peek. He shut it quickly again at Albus' knowing look.

'Try with the blank sensation first,' Albus suggested. 'And let us see how we go. Try to keep the barrier intact, and repel my attempt to penetrate it.'

He let Harry sit a few moments more, while the latter struggled to continue emptying his mind. Harry tried to let the darkness, the emptiness, consume him… almost as if his brain were a black hole.

'Open your eyes,' the headmaster whispered. Harry complied, feeling nervous. Albus' gaze was startlingly blue, and Harry found himself trapped in the force.

'Blank, Harry,' the headmaster reminded quietly.

Harry tried to comply…

' _Legilimens_.'

The sensation was not quite the same as it had been when Professor Snape had done it… but still, Harry found it disturbing. If his Occlumency attempt had been anything at all, it dissipated in an instant. Harry felt instead like he had fallen _into_ the black hole; like he was rushing through a Pensieve…. And then the images started.

 _Buckbeak, diving after a limp ferret in the air above the paddock… Emma Dobbs' letter… The fountain in the garden at Beauxbâtons…_

All at once the sensation lifted, and Harry found himself back on the headmaster's sofa. Albus pressed a freshened cup of tea into his hand.

'Take a moment before we go again,' he advised.

'I couldn't do it,' Harry mumbled, embarrassed and frustrated. 'It didn't work at all.'

'It was only your first attempt,' Dumbledore soothed. 'It takes most grown wizards years, Harry; and sometimes even then it cannot be done. Do not be discouraged.'

'That's what Remus said, about the Patronus,' Harry recalled.

'Another immensely difficult magic, which you managed in the end,' Albus reminded him.

Harry took a sip of his tea, feeling a bit heartened. 'Alright,' he agreed. 'I'm ready.'

'Try another barrier this time,' the headmaster suggested. 'The nothingness does not seem to suit you. I did not believe it truly would,' he added with a wink.

Harry grinned and shut his eyes again. He tried to think on what might work for a barrier. Albus was right: nothingness wasn't in Harry's nature at all. But… what was? Perhaps water? The sea in France had been so beautiful… and Albus had mentioned some people used a moat…

He tried to bury his thoughts behind water instead, envisioning the expanse of blue. When he thought he was ready, he opened his eyes.

' _Legilimens_ ,' Albus said softly again.

Harry recognised the penetration this time. He tried to focus on the water: the waves; the sparkling crests… He tried to raise its height – to block Dumbledore from entering…

 _But… What had he been thinking? He couldn't even swim… not really…_

The water was thickening… it was starting to flash; reflect. It was growing higher, just as he'd asked… but Harry was panicking. He couldn't control it. And he would surely drown…

 _The Dementors, gliding across the Quidditch pitch in a howling storm… Hermione, frozen and staring in the Hospital Wing… Ginny's limp body on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets; a huge, angry snake spitting as it snapped at the phoenix who had taken its eyes… Voldemort's red eyes gleaming out of the back of Quirrell's head…_

 _'Your mother needed have died… she was trying to protect you…'_

'Harry.'

Harry opened his eyes again. This time, he didn't remember the spell lifting. He had slumped sideways onto the arm of the sofa and Albus was crouched beside him, a hand on his shoulder and his crooked nose inches from Harry's face.

'Sorry,' Harry muttered, pushing himself upright again. He shook his head slightly as Albus released his hold. It wasn't paining him, exactly… but he felt muddled; a bit fragile.

'It is perfectly alright,' Albus said, passing him tea once again. 'Drink.'

Harry did. He felt some of the haziness begin to clear, and wondered if the headmaster was dosing the tea. He found he didn't mind much, this time.

'Are you feeling alright?' the headmaster asked gently.

Harry nodded. 'I did worse that time,' he said in chagrin. 'I thought maybe water…'

'It was a good attempt,' Albus disagreed. 'Though I do not think water will be your medium either, it worked more effectively than the first barrier. I applied more pressure to enter your thoughts… which was why you fell unconscious, I suspect. You were uncomfortable with the barrier, however. You allowed it to push you into panic. That drove you not only to lose control of your protection, but also to dwell on thoughts that were similarly associated with fright.'

Harry nodded, frowning. 'Could you see all of it?' he asked curiously.

Albus inclined his head. 'Not everything,' he told him. 'But most of it, yes. That is what Legilimency is designed to do.' He watched Harry closely for a moment. 'We could leave it here, if you do not feel up to continuing,' he suggested. 'But I would like you to try one more time, if you can.'

'I can do it,' Harry agreed at once. 'I just… give me a minute, to think of a different barrier.'

'Open your eyes when you are ready,' Albus said. 'Take whatever time you need.'

Harry shut his eyes for the third time, thinking hard. He didn't like walls… they reminded him too much of being trapped in his cupboard or locked in the smallest bedroom at the Dursleys'. Perhaps fire was his best bet after all. It _had_ been the image that resonated most with him, when Albus was lecturing on the different kinds of barriers. Fire made him think of Hogwarts – of the Gryffindor colours, the headmaster's study and Hermione's bluebell flames. It made him think of Fawkes, who so often felt like an extension of Albus himself. He tried to imagine himself behind a wall of the sort of fire Fawkes created… surrounding his mind in its red and gold light.

'Okay,' he said, opening his eyes again.

In the instant before Albus cast the spell, Harry thought he saw him give a small smile.

' _Legilimens_.'

This time, Harry could sense the invader more clearly than before… could isolate him. He focused hard in keeping the flames alight – shrouding him from view. He could feel pressure – first creeping, then increasing in its force… but the flames danced before his eyes: warm, powerful and strong.

The pressure relented. Dumbledore's office came back into focus as his vision cleared: the headmaster seated in the chair; Fawkes himself on the perch in the corner. Harry relaxed. And then –

The pressure was back. Much stronger than ever before. Harry reeled back mentally in shock, forgetting entirely about the flames. He struggled to spark them again… but already, he was falling.

 _A musty, dimly lit room of moulding stone, cold against his back as the figure wearing Snape's face loomed over him…_

 _'I want to hear you beg for mercy, Harry Potter. I want to watch you suffer as you die at my feet…'_

 _'Crucio!'_

 _A high, cold laugh as he burned…_

 _A nursery, cluttered with soft toys, a mobile twirling and chiming above a cot with white bars. A woman in Muggle clothing with arms spread wide, clutching at the edge of the cot… dark red hair spilling over her shoulders and green eyes bright with terror._

 _'Not Harry, not Harry, please! Not Harry!'_

 _'Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now –'_

 _'Not Harry, please, no! Take me – kill me instead!'_

 _'Stand aside –'_

 _'Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…'_

 _The great snake laying docile… a woman near to death across the cave… and a wand, held in red-black fingers…_

 _'Avada Kedavra!'_

 _A jet of bright green light, slamming the life from the woman's chest. And the wand, pulling the force of the magic back toward the snake…_

It took Harry several minutes to come to this time. He felt worse than before; weaker, shakier. The muddled feeling in his head had given way to a true ache.

'That was good,' Albus encouraged, though his own face was whiter than usual. 'Very good, Harry.'

'It didn't _feel_ good,' Harry said, rubbing at his head. 'It feels like crap.'

'Is it your head that aches?' the headmaster asked quietly. 'Or is the pain in your scar?'

Harry paused in his kneading. 'It's… my head,' he decided at last. 'My scar sort of prickles, I guess… but nothing like the pain I get when Voldemort is close or from those dreams. It feels a bit sensitive, but that's all. My head is throbbing though.'

'Is this new, or could you feel these sensations on your last two attempts?'

'Just this one,' Harry answered. 'The last time I just felt sort of muddled.'

Albus smiled sympathetically, though he still looked concerned. 'Occlumency is not an easy art to master,' he said. 'Unfortunately, the process is likely to leave you drained and achy for a time. Drink the tea – it will help.'

Harry followed the instruction. The tea did indeed chase away most of the headache, and his suspicions that Albus had added to the brew redoubled.

'I thought fire would be better,' he opined. 'But you got through all the same.'

'I have been practising Occlumency and Legilimency for a century, Harry,' Albus reminded him. 'There are few alive who could keep me out indefinitely. Your barrier was well-constructed – but you became complacent when the first attempt to penetrate your mind seemed to cease. I used more force in my second attack, but was countered with less… that is why it drove so deeply.'

'Yeah, I could tell that,' Harry admitted. 'But… do you think I should keep using fire, then?'

Albus tapped at his chin. 'I think it is the best you have utilised thus far,' he hedged. 'You feel the most natural connection to this element; it has connotations in your life and psyche that help you to conjure it, and augment its protective qualities. I am not sure that it will be the best form of barrier for you, in the end… but I think you should continue to work with fire until whatever your true barrier ought to be comes to you. I suspect it will be a natural progression now… you have started on the correct track.'

'Er… alright,' Harry agreed, not altogether reassured. 'Should we try again?'

'Not tonight,' said Albus firmly. 'Your mind has had enough for one evening. But I want you to focus on the fire in bed – to get used to the sensation of keeping an active barrier in sleep. We will continue with the lessons in two days' time.'

Harry nodded, climbing to his feet.

'I am also going to give you Dreamless Sleep,' Albus added as he relinquished his own chair.

Harry groaned.

'It is not the best solution,' Albus agreed with another small smile. 'And we cannot continue to use it indefinitely… but I want you to have a few nights' guarantee of undisturbed rest. It will give your body additional time to recover, and your mind some time to strengthen.'

Harry, knowing he could not argue the point, led the way upstairs. It was only after the headmaster had seen him into bed and left to retrieve the potion that something curious occurred to him.

Though Albus had told him he could see almost everything Harry did… he had not inquired after the memories at all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next morning dawned sunny and warm. Harry woke fully rested, without the terrifying lag of recent nightmares, in a familiar feather bed, to the natural call of a new day. It felt wonderful.

He dressed, met Dumbledore in the study, and had made it all the way through the doors of the Great Hall for breakfast when reality hit him in all its black-clad glory.

Snape was resuming lessons today.

As if the Potions master could see Harry's dreams of Quidditch and sunshine fly out the window as their eyes met, his sallow face broke into a satisfied smirk.

'One o'clock, Potter,' he said by way of morning greeting.

Harry threw himself into a seat as far away as possible. 'Yes, sir,' he agreed automatically.

Albus and Minerva seated themselves in the chairs between, making conversation with the other diners. The table was far more crowded than usual this morning. Madam Pomfrey and Professors Flitwick, Sprout, Burbage and Sinistra were all in attendance – presumably to meet with Minerva on the assignments for new Muggle-born students' calls. Harry wondered if he'd missed this kerfuffle the previous two summers because he hadn't been paying attention, or if the process had simply started before he'd returned to the castle. Every one of the teachers greeted him warmly, though none seemed surprised at his presence. He'd seen each of them at some point or another during the previous two summer holidays, and he was sure Albus must have spoken with them about the arrangement. He answered the greetings politely – though he made sure to sit almost as far from Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye as he had Snape's. He _felt_ perfectly normal; but he was sure one word from the others to her about his recent dreams, and she'd whisk him off for a going over before he could say 'unfair'. Much better not to risk it.

Luckily for him, it did not seem he was the focus of today's chatter. Harry was left to eat his eggs and contemplate Snape's coming lesson in peace. He was nearly through his bangers when something white flumped onto the table before him.

'Hedwig!' he said in delight, reaching to stroke her head. She nipped affectionately at his fingers, and held out a leg with a tightly furled scroll. Harry detached it quickly, beaming as he recognised the neat hand.

'Excellent,' he said enthusiastically. He offered the last of his sausages to Hedwig for her trouble. 'I've been meaning to write them.'

'Good tidings?' Albus inquired, twinkling over at him from across the table.

'Hermione,' Harry explained as he brandished the letter.

He saw he was not the only one who'd received post. The headmaster's plate was surrounded by his usual flurry of owls – some with newspapers in languages Harry barely knew; others with scrolls of varying sizes. Minerva too had three or four owls quibbling over the remainder of her porridge, and many of the teachers were detaching copies of _The Daily Prophet_ from their own birds. On the opposite end, Snape had two owls vying for his attention. A sleek-looking screech owl with the usual newspaper, and a shabby tawny with a crudely-folded note.

Harry couldn't help but stare. Not because Snape had post – he was used to the teachers getting a great deal over the course of the summer – but because the letter itself looked odd. Almost always, the owls delivered post in two usual forms: either sealed in an envelope, like the Hogwarts' letters or other official greetings; or else furled into a scroll, like his message from Hermione had come. This note looked as though it had been inexpertly folded into thirds, and it was taped to the bird's leg rather than tied with twine or carried in the owl's mouth. The improper delivery seemed to annoy Snape too. Harry saw him scowl as he picked the tape off with two fingers (the owl had squawked indignantly when he tried to use his wand).

The professor's scowl deepened perceptively as he read the letter's contents. With a snarl, he crumpled it up in a fist. Then his black eyes snapped up – staring right at Harry.

'Mind your own, Potter!' he snapped waspishly.

Harry looked quickly away as heads turned up and down the table between them, his cheeks burning. But he saw Snape pocket the wadded letter out of the corner of his eye all the same. Not two minutes later, the Potions Master stalked toward the door without a word to his companions.

'Severus – your list!' Minerva called after him, holding it up.

' _Accio_ ,' Snape said, without turning. The parchment whizzed through the air to his outstretched hand. Minerva gave an irritated humpf, and the doors banged shut behind him.

'By all means, Potter, continue to move with the haste of a confunded troll. You know how that thrills me.'

Harry pulled himself off the ground yet again, feeling the ache all over. He was supposed to be practising the Disarming Charm today. As he had done it wandlessly before, Snape was insisting he do so wordlessly today… and, as added incentive, he was casting at Harry while the latter tried to disarm. Harry did not know precisely what spell Snape was using (as the professor too was casting without speaking), but whatever it was had sent him skittering along the stone floor seven times already. Snape's foul temper did not seem to have improved since breakfast. Which, considering he had now spent twenty minutes throwing Harry across his classroom, Harry found very surprising indeed.

'I'd get up quicker if you didn't hit me quite so hard, _sir_ ,' Harry said mulishly, clutching an elbow. 'Or if you at least let me _say_ the spell…'

'The point of the exercise is _not_ to relay on verbalisation,' Snape retorted. 'And until you grasp that, you will spend the whole of this lesson on your back. Again.'

Again, Harry tried to disarm. And again, he went flying across the floor. This time, his head came dangerously close to cracking the edge of Snape's desk. The Potions Master only just slid it out of the way in time.

'You are not putting _any_ effort behind the attempt!' Snape snarled, jerking Harry back to his feet with a slash of his own wand. 'Did you do nothing but laze about in the fortnight's break from these lessons, Potter?!'

'You _told_ me not to practise without you!' Harry shot back angrily. 'How exactly was I supposed to keep training in wandless spellwork if I couldn't –'

'You could have _read_ something,' the professor snapped. 'You could have cracked a book, or spent time attempting to reach your Magical Core _without_ casting. You could have shown some incentive to advance your own learning, you ignorant fool.'

'It's not like I've had a lovely holiday,' Harry grumbled. 'After everything that happened at the end of term… and then I was shut up with my aunt and uncle, wasn't I? I've barely got back.'

'You were at your relations home for approximately five minutes, Potter. All with the wolf to watch over you. Do not pretend you could not find your way to a book the whole of your time there. And you have been back at Hogwarts for several days. Perhaps you ought to have spent yesterday afternoon revising, rather than gallivanting about the grounds with Hagrid.'

'I didn't _gallivant_ anywhere!' Harry said hotly. 'That's not fair! And everyone _else_ gets holiday…'

'You are _not_ everyone else, Potter!' Snape shouted. He was nearly on top of Harry now, his face contorted in rage. Harry could have counted the pores on his hooked nose. He shrank back, though he did not let the set of his jaw relax.

Snape was silent a moment. Then he straightened, fixing the turn-ups of his robes. 'As I have told you before – your ability to remain at the castle for the summer holidays is a privilege, not a right. Many would give their wand arm for the opportunity. You will _learn_ while you are here. This is a school. You are not being sentenced to isolation in Nurmengard. Now, resume your position!'

But Harry did not. Snape's words had triggered something in his memory…

'Nurmengard,' he repeated, forgetting to sound offended. 'The twins mentioned that last term. What is it?'

Snape sneered. 'Apparently, mine is not the only subject you are loath to touch during your _holiday_ ,' he mocked. 'I am sure Professor Binns receives equally woeful essays.'

Harry ground his teeth. 'If you don't want to tell me, _sir_ , then don't,' he said. 'Forget I –'

'Nurmengard is a prison, Potter, believed to be in Germany,' Snape said curtly. 'It is a fortress built by Gellert Grindelwald, intended to hold those who opposed his reign. Of course, he killed most who might have been housed there… but the cells were full enough before the headmaster caught up with him. He is said to reside there himself, now, at the headmaster's direction.'

Harry stared. 'Grindelwald's… alive?' he asked, stunned. 'But Albus beat him.'

'The headmaster does not believe death the ultimate punishment,' Snape countered. 'You ought to have realised that by now. Grindelwald has been neither seen nor heard from since his defeat. I do not know for sure myself whether he still lives… though I suspect we would have had word had he passed. Talk to the headmaster, if you are curious.'

'I –'

'The position!' Snape said impatiently.

Harry took his stance once again, but he was unsurprised when Snape sent him sliding only moments later. The professor snorted in disgust.

'Get out of my sight, Potter,' he demanded. 'Practise the incantation _with_ and wand and _without_ speaking in the interim. When I see you back on Friday, you had best hope you present a better effort than this dismal display… or I shall leave the furniture in place next time.'

Harry nodded and scrambled from the room, before the Potions Master could blast him off his feet again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus fingered the note in his pocket, as he had every few minutes since its arrival at breakfast this morning. He did not remove it. It was crumpled: ripe for the fire. But he did not burn it. It was a worthless, meaningless missive… and yet he had not tossed it away.

Instead, he drank a third measure of scotch and sat in his favourite armchair, watching the flames burn lower and lower; the study darkening as night drew in. He did not read, or write. He did not brew. He had not even emerged from his dungeons for supper that evening. He sat in his chair with his scotch, fingering the heaviness in his pocket, and thinking.

Until the soft knock echoed off the door.

Severus ignored it, though he knew it was fruitless.

Aged knuckles rapped again.

Still, Severus said nothing.

The door opened.

In his peripheral vision, Severus registered a long shadow cast by the flickering light of the fire… looming larger as the unwanted arrival entered the room.

'Severus?'

Albus edged inside and shut the door with a soft click. His eyes were concerned and disapproving as they focused on the Potions Master over his half-moon spectacles. Severus could feel them; though he had not turned his head.

Boots tapped over the floor, and Severus at last turned. The headmaster sat himself on the arm of the leather sofa, hands clasped in his lap and gaze still piercing.

'Albus,' Severus greeted in clipped tones.

There was a long moment of silence.

'Are you unwell?' Dumbledore asked quietly. He illuminated the candles with one hand as he spoke, scrutinising Severus' face.

Severus scowled. 'Of course not,' he scoffed, pulling the hand not clutching his glass from his pocket.

The headmaster continued to frown. 'You missed supper in the Great Hall,' he pointed out.

Severus snorted. He lifted the glass to his lips again, taking another pull. 'Having no wish to socialise is not a symptom of ailment,' he said around the burn of the spirit. 'Merely a manifestation of a desire for solitude, Albus.'

The headmaster's expression did not change. 'Perhaps,' he allowed. 'Yet the House-elves tell me you did not send for a private meal.'

'You are checking up on me?' Severus accused in a hiss.

'You need to eat, Severus,' Dumbledore reproached softly.

Severus glared. 'I realise you have become used to _child minding_ , Albus, but I am a grown man. If I am hungry, I will eat. I do not see how it is anyone's concern but my own.'

Still, Albus frowned. 'You are not so different from one another, you know,' he observed. 'I can tell just as easily when something is not right with you as I can with Harry. You may not be a child, my dear boy… but –'

'I am _nothing_ like Potter!' Severus growled.

He uncrossed his legs, jumping up from the chair. The drink nearly fell from his grasp as he took to his feet, but he shrugged away the helpful hand that reached toward him, striding for the fire as he took another pull.

'What has happened?' Albus asked, calm as ever. 'This behaviour is not like you, Severus.'

'I have never been an easy man to converse with, Albus,' the professor retorted angrily, glaring at the hearth. 'I am not _pleasant_ company…'

'You are not a drinker,' Albus retorted. 'Not like this, at any rate. And Harry reported that –'

'Oh? What does precious _Potter_ say?' Severus snarled, stalking back over to the side table to pour another from the decanter. 'After all, he is such a fountain of insight –'

'He says you were in a temper this afternoon,' Albus said, maddeningly calm.

'Just because Potter complains at every attempt to instruct him –'

'A temper even by _your_ standards, Severus,' the headmaster continued. 'And I must say, judging by what I see tonight, I do agree.'

Some of the spirit sloshed over the side of the glass. Severus did not bother to vanish it.

'I am tired, Albus,' he said instead. 'This is my holiday as well. I have earned the right to a night of drink and solitude, if I wish to –'

'I have told you many times to have a break if you desire,' Dumbledore said over him. 'You have not taken time away from the school in years. The term ahead will not be an easy one, Severus. You know that. The years to come even less so. If you need to –'

'It is not the Dark Lord,' Severus said with another snort, and yet another swallow. 'And I do not need a rest, Albus. Just an evening of peace.'

Albus did not speak for a long moment. He muttered a spell, and the spilled whisky vanished. Then he sighed. 'You do not need anything else to drink, Severus,' he advised quietly.

'I am neither your student nor your ward, Albus, and these are _my_ quarters,' he snapped. 'I can drink as much as I choose. The brat is not in lessons with me again for another two days… I shall be more than sufficiently sober by then.'

'Severus, if something has happened with Harry…'

'Not everything is about _Potter_!' Severus bellowed.

'No,' Albus agreed. 'It is not.'

There was another, longer pause. Severus stalked back to the fireside, feeling the blue eyes tracking his back. He rested his forearms on the mantle. The firelight caught in the pattern of the glass, sparkling as he tilted the tumbler this way, then that. The headmaster did not break the silence this time. Yet Severus knew he would not leave.

'My father is dying,' he spat at last.

Dumbledore did not reply at once, but Severus did not need to meet his gaze to know he was being scrutinised again.

'When did this happen?' Albus asked.

Severus shrugged. 'I have no idea,' he said carelessly. 'I received a letter this morning by owl.'

'A letter?' the headmaster repeated.

Severus shoved a hand into his pocket again, retrieving the crumpled missive. He tossed it in Dumbledore's direction without turning… but he could hear as the headmaster smoothed it out all the same.

'How he managed to find someone to send it is anyone's guess,' Severus went on in a low hiss. 'He's always hated our kind…'

'He writes that he wishes to see you.'

Severus snorted again. 'A clear sign he is being plied with significant Muggle pharmaceuticals,' he said viciously. 'As he has spent the last thirty-four years abhorring the sight of me.'

'Our priorities become clearer in times of great adversity,' the headmaster said. 'Most especially at the end of our days. Even for those who have erred monstrously in their lives.'

'He did not err, I assure you,' the Potions master disagreed. 'Everything he did was quite deliberate. And for that, I wish him nothing but pain in the end of _his_ days.'

'Severus –'

'He was a wasted excuse for a man his entire LIFE, Albus!' Severus ranted, whipping around at last in a whirl of black to glare at the headmaster.

His scotch-ridden hand shot forward to point, and a splash of amber liquid stained Albus' silver robes. The headmaster did not flinch at either the words or the drink Severus flung.

'A pathetic, violent, despicable creature with no shred of humanity. He lazed about the house without a thought for his family, drinking his way from dawn until dusk. He drove my mother into an early grave, and… and…'

'And abused you as well,' Albus finished for him quietly.

Severus ground his teeth furiously. 'He was a monster,' he hissed. 'And that he _dares_ to write me now… as if I would, as if I _could_ …'

He spat viciously into the fire. The flames roiled where the alcohol hit.

'He does not ask clemency,' Albus noted. 'Only that you pay a call.'

'He will get _neither_ , whatever his request,' Severus insisted.

Albus set the letter on the low table and stood at last. Severus did not turn again, but he expected the strong hand that closed on his shoulder.

'You did not dispose of the letter,' the headmaster said softly. 'You showed it to me, Severus. And, I think, you know what I will say on the matter. Perhaps you revealed this only to allow yourself the argument… perhaps you thought I would force your hand, and you would not need to make the choice yourself. But I will indulge you in neither, Severus. For, on the whole, I think you know in your heart what you must do.'

'Would you say the same, to your precious Golden Boy?' Severus challenged. 'Would you ask _him_ to return to his brute of an uncle, if Vernon Dursley wrote such a missive? Or is this yet another instance of double-standard, headmaster…'

'I would give Harry the same advice,' Albus said: without hesitation, and without comment on Severus' ire. 'But I would not force him into a decision. Just as I will not tell you to show mercy for your father, Severus.'

'He does not deserve it,' Severus growled. 'He does not deserve _anything_ from me, headmaster.'

The hand on his shoulder squeezed. 'No, he does not,' Albus agreed. 'You would be well within your right to burn this letter and never speak of it again, should you wish to do so. But true mercy, my dear child, is not forgiveness, or pardon. Mercy is not something that is always deserved or earned. Nor is it a token of the weak. It is a gift. And it is bestowed by those with admirable strength.'

'Not all of us have your strength, headmaster,' Severus mocked. 'Not all of us care to.'

'My dear boy, I have lived much longer than you, and made many more of the wrong choices in my own life than you could ever imagine,' Dumbledore said heavily. 'But if there is one thing I have learned from a century of life and mistakes, it is that forgiveness can hold much more power than regret. Just as love holds much more than hate.'

'I cannot do it,' Severus said, more softly this time. 'I do not _want_ to do it, Albus. And he will not want it either… not really. He never cared for me. He never cared for anything, much. I doubt he can know remorse, no matter how bitter his final days. Why should _I_ care to ease his passing? Why do _you_?'

'You misunderstand me,' the headmaster replied. 'For it is not forgiveness for your father of which I speak. Tobias Snape has been a brutal, vindictive man. But if _you_ do not go, Severus, you will regret it all the rest of your life. We cannot lock away our pasts in the hope that we will never have to face them. Your compassion will not be the gift that redeems your father's cruelty, my dear boy. It will be the act which allows you yourself a moment of closure.'

The hand on his shoulder contracted again.

'I care for _you_ , Severus,' Dumbledore finished. 'Not your father. I will not tell you what to do. But I hope you will make the choice that brings you peace.'

They stood in silence for a moment. And then the hand was withdrawn.

And Severus was left alone, staring into the dying flames… his father's letter back in his pocket.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Six**

 **Undeniably Uzumaki** : Thank you for your review, and glad you liked the chapter! I was quite excited to share this Dumbledore bit, so it's lovely to hear you've enjoyed it. He is certainly gifted by nature, of course… but somehow even the most brilliant men tend to accomplish little, without some sort of drive behind their greatness. For me, considering Dumbledore's character, Ariana had to be that motivation. Now for your question, the answer is yes… though I hesitate to give it, because the last thing I want to do is send off a flurry of pairing wars among the readers. I'll stress for anyone reading this (not necessarily you, as I doubt you'll go there… but I'm sure other readers will peruse the Response section) that Harry is _not_ going to be mated for life to anyone, and he'll have multiple 'interests' throughout the COH series, so I hope nobody will get their knickers in a twist (or, alternatively, get too excited) when the girl drama begins. I'd also emphasis that he _is_ fourteen (thirteen, really, at this point), so I would beg readers to remember that 'love' in secondary school is really not equivalent to adult love, or marriage. With all these caveats, however, I am quite looking forward to exploring that new aspect of teenage hormones and hilarity, and I hope everyone will enjoy the journey.

Enjoy Chapter Seven!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thanks for reviewing! Very glad to hear you enjoyed the Dumbledore flashback. I know it was quite long (probably half the chapter's length, if you combine both sections)… but I felt to cut it would take away from the importance of the scenes, and actually I ended up moving the Sirius and Remus section to Chapter Seven just to emphasise the flashback in this one. Anyway, I'm glad it seemed to read well and happy you found it added to the Dumbledore boys and to Kendra. The flashback, and Albus' present day thoughts that accompany it, also serves as our first real foray into what the title to this book entails, beyond merely Voldemort's resurrection… for _who_ is the Master of Death? And what, exactly, does that mean?

Ooh, now I'm _glad_ you brought up sensing magic; and even more so that you've equated it with the nature of magic itself. We've seen Albus lecture Harry a few times now – in both the previous books – on the idea that Magic itself is rarely evil or good, but the _intent_ behind it can alter its nature. We've also seen mention of Magical auras, and various characters 'sensing' some sort of magic in various ways. And there was a significant discussion in several chapters of Part II about the studies of Merlin, the Druids, and Magic as relates to the elements. And of course, we had that little introductory lesson in France as well. But the marriage of these many complicated ideas is really at the heart of what Harry will be taught by Albus this summer (and in the years to come). To attune to Magic is to understand it… to understand it is to grasp its nature… and its 'nature' is not usually so simplistic as 'light' or 'dark'. I hope you'll enjoy how that develops. And I hope you – and all readers, really – will remember it, for the idea of 'intent' shaping nearly all forms of Magic will be very, _very_ important later on.

The family is all well, thank you! The girls are approaching three months, and just darling. They have finally started sleeping _almost_ through the night… although (as you can probably tell by my odd time postings) I am still unused to uninterrupted rest. Perhaps in a few more weeks I shall remember what it feels like.

I wish you happy travels on your holiday, and hope you and yours are well. Enjoy Chapter Seven!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for your review! Haha, it's true… I feel so bad giving Harry all these dreams that he falls ill from – but things should ease up a bit now we've got Occlumency training on the horizon (and since Voldemort has finished making his Horcruxes). Glad you enjoyed the Albus flashback sequence! The first step, really, in the headmaster becoming the Greatest Wizard of the Age. Hope you like Chapter Seven!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you liked the chapter. Haha, yes, the storm will come eventually… but hopefully they'll be a few good times before we get there. Enjoy Chapter Seven!

 **Leonore** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm sorry it made you cry, but very happy you liked the chapter so much. Albus' struggle with Harry and the fact that it – and his whole life, really – has been shaped by what happened to his sister and the drive it awakened in himself will play a key role in this book. I hope you enjoy it as we move forward!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thanks for reviewing! Ooh, I'm very glad you liked this chapter so much, because it is my favourite also so far in this book… possibly my favourite of the entire series, save perhaps 'How to Bewitch the Mind' all the way back in Part I.

Ah yes, the first time Albus broke his nose! I wondered if people would pick up on that one. Writing him and Aberforth as children was an interesting challenge… for it is rather odd to think about what Albus Dumbledore would have been like as a boy, and odder still to write him as such. This was an Albus pre-Hogwarts, pre-wand… small enough still to be picked up by his mother; and whose closest companion and playmate is his brother. There are bits of him that are familiar to us early on – the skill with wandless magic, the protectiveness with which he treats Ariana and Aberforth; and then even more that we recognise later – the Transfiguration, the quiet reserve, the thirst for knowledge. I wanted to really focus on this significant turning point in Albus' future, even though he was but ten when everything occurred.

The Obscurus. It is horrid what happened to Ariana – and, as Dumbledore explained to Harry in Part II's 'All Hallows Eve', it is the absolute worst thing anyone can do to a Magical child. From Fantastic Beasts and Albus' interlude in 'All Hallows Eve', we know that Obscurials were much more common before the enactment of the Statute of Secrecy, but still occur – rarely – today. Kendra Dumbledore is a Muggle-born witch, whereas Percival Dumbledore comes from a long wizarding line. I didn't go into detail about how he knew so much about Obscurials and the destructive nature of the magic, as this was from Albus' POV, but we may hear more about it later. In short, she was less familiar with it because she wasn't raised in the magical world. But Percival could recognise it at once. I imagine they had already been speaking at length about it before the boys came down… but Kendra still held out hope that there must be _something_ they could do; whereas Percival was devastated and inconsolable in his anger and grief. Kendra follows his wishes after he's gone and keeps the family together as long as she can, even though it's so difficult to do so. Its interesting because the children don't fully understand, but even they can feel the heartbreak as they are forced to leave their family home. And then, of course, the entire affair awakens Albus' determination to become extraordinary, and that first drive for knowledge and power is motivated by his desire to save his sister. It is the inspiration for the title, really – though I know this one was a difficult stretch. Ariana is the British form of 'Ariadne', who in Greek mythology provided the hero Theseus with a string to carry into the labyrinth so that he could slay the unbeatable Minotaur, and then guide his way back out. As to whether he will (or has?) found a cure for the Obscurus in the century since… well, that one I'll let you find out in the story.

Minerva! Her return just seemed like the only way to end a chapter so fuelled with turmoil and heartbreak. Albus is certainly beyond thrilled to see her returned: she is the rock that holds everyone together, in many ways; and she is also the family he has created for himself, even after so many years of burdens. Yes, before her return, Albus was thinking about both Ariana and Harry… the two people he has wanted to save above all others – and the fact that he did not save his sister. As to what Minerva knows – she definitely knows of Ariana, though perhaps not all the details of the story (she uses this, somewhat harshly, in the final chapter of Part I when attempting to dissuade Albus from sending Harry back to Privet Drive). Albus has shared more with her than any other alive, but he almost never speaks of his sister. As to what she knows about Harry… Albus would have informed her that he brought Harry back from Privet Drive, but not yet of this latest incident. We'll see the aftermath of that unfold in Chapter Seven.

Oh the dreams are bad. Very bad. Albus is definitely horrified by Harry's reaction to them, and obviously this drives an immediate need for stronger Occlumency. Snape is an interesting one. Every time I send these chapters to Lizzie to read, she always responds with something like 'Snape is such an arse! But somehow I'm still on his side.' I think that pretty much sums it up. Snape, too, recognises the ominous nature of these dreams. And you are right – he doubts Albus' ability to teach Harry in this: partly because of the nature of Albus' Legilimency verses the Dark Lord's, and party because (though he did not say it) I think he doubts Albus will be able to bring himself to hurt Harry in such a way. We'll see that come back shortly as well. Glad you liked the little Easter Egg from Philosopher's Stone's opening chapter. :)

Okay, so to some of your other points… I doubt Sirius and Karkaroff will be alone together, but we'll _definitely_ see a fallout from Sirius' enmity toward him. Sirius and Remus figure heavily in Chapter Seven, so we'll get some insight into their living situation (and more as the summer continues). I think your opinion of Lucius Malfoy is spot-on. We'll definitely see more of them later in the book, so I hope you'll enjoy that! As to more parental talks between Harry and Albus/Minerva – oh yes, definitely we'll see more of that. We'll also have more of Harry learning about James and Lily… after all, he still hasn't seen any of _Sirius'_ memories (!). :)

Finally, congratulations on London! It's such a wonderful city, especially in the summer – you'll really enjoy it. Let me know if you want recommendations!

Enjoy Chapter Seven!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for your review, and glad you liked the chapter! Ah, that is the question, isn't it? Albus will struggle for much of the book with this burden… now that he strongly suspects Harry has been created a horcrux as well, how can he save him? _Should_ he save him, at the possible expense of their world? Can he in fact have both? (Alright, we know in canon he _can_ , because we've finished the true HP series… but Albus here hasn't had those stars align yet). How he goes about intending to find a solution to this quandary will be a defining arc for his character.

Severus… consideration, yes – probably not his strong suit. And, sadly, I doubt 'getting laid' is in his immediate future either. But he has a big moment this next chapter too, which will play out in several ways over his already complicated summer. I hope you'll enjoy that, and Chapter Seven!

 **FandomsRuinedMe** : Thank you so much for reviewing! Very happy you've discovered this series and you are enjoying it so much thus far. Nearly one sitting? I'm impressed :)

Albus and Minerva will definitely continue. There's a fun little bit that we'll have in the next chapter, in fact. Obviously not a canon pairing, but they are an alternative that I enjoy very much as well. Her entrance at the end of Chapter Six seemed like the only proper way to close the emotionally heavy instalment.

Haha angsty Harry! Well, this _isn't_ an angst or hurt/comfort series, strictly speaking, but we'll definitely see more of the 'angst' now we're in Harry's mid-teens, particularly as his relationship with the headmaster and Minerva deepens and his life grows increasingly complicated. The dreams have thrown him for a serious loop, and stopping them will not be an easy feat… for Harry or for Albus.

I also thank you for the well wishes. It has certainly been a journey, and we're only three months in… but we've enjoyed every minute thus far (some, of course, more than others).

Hope you like Chapter Seven!

 **Guest Reviewer** : Thank you so much for your review! That readers take the time to both enjoy the chapter and share reactions is truly the best part of sharing this story in such a way. I am very glad you liked the chapter. It is my personal favourite from this book, and one of my favourites from the series thus far – though I have no hesitation in admitting it was among the most difficult to write, both because it is very deliberate and because I found penning the Ariana portions a surprisingly emotional process.

Great question on the Horcrux! A few readers have asked in review and/or PM about this, but before I post what I know will be a long answer –

**** **MILD SPOILER WARNING. *******

The simplest explanation begins with the nature of the Horcrux in Harry. The scar, though the point of ingress, is not really the Horcrux. As Horcruxes are hosted by 'containers' – Harry's body is the container, rather than his head. He usually feels the connection with Voldemort through his scar (though in canon we see manifestation of other physical symptoms), because that was where the curse occurred and the place at which the Horcrux and Harry are 'latched'. However, the Horcrux is a piece of Voldemort's soul… which is to say a piece of his essence, including his magic. A part of Voldemort (through the Horcrux) has latched itself to Harry's own magical core. Like a parasitic growth, it strengthens as he does… and as Voldemort does, as of course it is still linked to its true master. This is the main reason behind the intensity of these dreams verses the canon versions at this point, because Harry's magic is stronger than it was at fourteen in canon. So in part, he feels the echo of Voldemort's own unendurable pain because of the intermingling of their cores – Voldemort is splitting himself; splitting his soul and his essence – and that starts from the core. Everything that is Voldemort can feel that. This is, obviously, a change somewhat from canon, which I am connecting to the theory of the strengthening of Harry's core… one reason, in my view, that he starts getting the visions again in Deathly Hallows. Though Harry (and, to some extent, the trio) rationalises this as Voldemort becoming stronger and Voldemort stopping his own Occlumency against Harry as he becomes obsessed with finding the Elder Wand, it also happens to coincide with Harry coming of age, becoming stronger magically, and coming into his own as a leader and a man. Which would be, in my view, when his Core gained the most strength.

The second piece of this puzzle is related but slightly different. As we saw most prominently in Order of the Phoenix (though also at other times), Harry has visions of Voldemort's activities… but he also gets 'flashes' of Voldemort's powerful emotions – usually anger, sometimes excitement. Here, Voldemort is in deep, terrible pain. Harry in turn feels that emotion acutely.

The final point I'll make is that although Hogwarts provides its own sense of 'protection' – as Albus told Harry earlier – there is also a _lack_ of protection for Harry at the school. For he is, of course, away from his mother's sacrifice. Though being at the Dursleys' does not keep Harry from having these debilitating vision/nightmares, it is possible that the protection has an effect on the Horcrux on Privet Drive that is absent at Hogwarts. This, too, may become important later. The scar bursting, incidentally, is a one-time thing that is also related to the Horcrux creation. I don't intend that that will happen again.

I hope this helps explain that bit. It is, as you have already guessed, something Albus has deduced from Harry's reaction to the dream and his description of what he saw… and though I did not go into detail on his thoughts about the final Horcrux's creation here, it will be readdressed later in the book.

 *****END SPOILERS*****

The knee scar… that actually _does_ have an interesting backstory – it should come up later in this book. As for magical healing, it is a very interesting conundrum. Albus gave us a bit of insight on its limitations in Part II's 'All Hallows Eve,' but these will be revisited in greater detail as well and is quite tied into the nature of magic plotline, so I think I will hold off on giving too much additional thought on this now. I'm glad the scenes with Kendra and Albus in the past drew your thoughts back to Albus and Harry and to some of Albus' most signature lessons… the idea was, indeed, to show how parts of Kendra and Percival have shaped the headmaster's person.

Ah, and finally… someone has looped back to the title. I am sure there were theories on what that meant – but this is the first chapter, really, where I think we start to glimpse where that might be headed… and I did wonder whether anyone would catch it. We will _certainly_ be seeing more of Albus' past – a great deal more, in fact. I agree with your observations on time and custom differences throughout history, and will certainly keep that in mind as things progress.

Thank you also for sharing your reading recommendations. I have read Doerr's novel, and quite enjoyed it! I have not yet perused 'Never Alone, Never Again,' but I will take a look at it. Although this isn't really going to be a hurt/comfort-centric fic, there will certainly be elements of that moving forward in the Albus-Harry relationship.

I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for the reviews! Ah, ok… couple of chapters to reply to here – love it!

First off, Chapter Four. Very glad you liked the Lucius portrayal, and I think you're spot on with his character analysis. He'll reappear a few times later in this book. Also happy you liked the Muggle and Wizard history bits that came into play – and how interesting that you're so familiar with the region of Nimes! Though I do apologise that you've not yet met a wizard… perhaps swing by the temple the next time you visit the area?

On Chapter Five, thanks for your suggested revisions! As I think you know, while I do speak French and lived there for a time, it isn't my first language and there are definitely mistakes I'll make in writing (and likely speaking) it. I'll certainly take you up on the suggested edits as soon as I have a chance to go back. Love that you enjoyed the description of the school; and yes, we'll definitely see the French students again (or some of them, at least). And pleased you liked the terrible, yet necessary, bit at the end. It's a ritual that should chill the blood.

Okay, Chapter Six. Dumbledore's drive to greatness I've already talked about at length in a few responses above… but kudos for catching the origin of the title! So far, I think you are the only one to do that in the review response section – and, of course, you are spot on. Alas, I cannot help but bow to a Greek myth or two at times.

Enjoy Chapter Seven!

 **Caveydude** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very glad you have discovered the series and are enjoying the books so much, though I do hope you can get some sleep now you've caught up! Enjoy Chapter Seven – and definitely keep commenting!


	8. Sins of the Father

**A/N:** Hello all! Lots to cover in this July/August section of our story, so I hope this long chapter will make up for the few weeks' wait. Enjoy 'Sins of the Father', and…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

CHAPTER EIGHT

 **Sins of the Father**

 _He had used his winnings from_ Transfiguration Today's _'Most Promising Mind' Competition to secure the suite. It was the best the Leaky Cauldron had to offer – on the very top storey with two massive bedchambers, a parlour, and three balconies that offered glorious views of both Wizarding and Muggle London. He and Elphias had sprung for Firewhisky and several bottles of oak-matured mead, and spent nearly a week seeing the sights and celebrating the end of their formal education. They'd visited the new apothecary and the bookshops. They'd toured the gardens at Buckingham Palace and caught the premiere of_ Enigma Variations _at the Muggle opera. They'd sampled spices from India, oysters from a cart, and even a new type of sweet imported from Algeria that had made Albus' tongue go a vivid shade of green for two whole days._

 _Now, on the eve of their departure, Elphias had the parlour spread with hand-drawn maps and ribbon-marked books, eagerly plotting their first week's stay in Greece and the subsequent adventure in South America. Albus stood alone on the largest balcony – listening to his friend's mutterings through the open doors and watching the pink light of sunset gleam off the Thames in the distance as he sipped at his mead. It seemed to signal the transition of his own life. The world was open to him now… and not just because they had finished Hogwarts and would be leaving on their Grand Tour._

 _Albus was easily the most celebrated student at the school in centuries – possibly in a millennium. He had won prizes in every subject he pursued; represented to the Wizengamot; published papers on Magical Theory that even his professors had struggled to understand; presented studies at international conferences; even spent a summer apprenticing in Alchemy with the famed Nicolas Flamel. Already he had been made offers by four Ministry Departments and the ICW. The Minister himself had met with him during their time in London. He was gifted; brilliant. He would change Magic itself._

 _The knock was gentle at first. Albus would have missed it had it not repeated, more insistently._

 _'Yes?' Elphias called._

 _Albus pushed himself up off the rail of the balcony and sauntered back into the parlour to greet the guest. He thought, perhaps, one of their friends who had been staying in a lower room… so many of them were scheduled to depart from London tomorrow._

 _But it was the middle-aged innkeeper, and he was clutching a letter. 'Post for you, Mr Dumbledore,' Tom said, holding out the scroll._

 _Albus took it curiously with a word of thanks, unfurling the missive as the innkeeper bowed himself out again._

 _'That Fitzwilliam's confirmation?' Elphias asked, sorting through a stack of Amazonian maps. 'He's left it a bit late…'_

 _Albus did not reply. He had had to read the contents of the letter through twice – his mind, most atypically, going quite numb._

 _'Albus?' Elphias looked up, frowning slightly._

 _'I have to go,' Albus said, clearing his throat. 'My mother… there has been an accident.'_

 _'A what?' Elphias repeated in confusion. 'What sort of –'_

 _'She is dead,' Albus said, still numb… still in disbelief. 'I… I have to go. Aberforth, Ariana… there is no one there.'_

 _He did not wait to watch Elphias scramble to his feet._

 _'I'll come, Albus,' his friend offered, dashing in Albus' wake toward the latter's chamber while Albus threw his things into his trunk with a sweep of his wand. 'I'll help. By Merlin, I am so –'_

 _'No, don't come,' Albus said quickly, spinning to face him as the trunk slammed shut. 'I thank you… but not yet,' he amended, slightly softer. 'My brother and sister will be devastated – they are alone with her right now. Let me see things sorted first. I shall write you with the arrangements.'_

 _'Don't be absurd, Albus,' Elphias argued at once. 'I can –'_

 _'I shall write on the morrow,' Albus promised. He seized the handle of the trunk. Elphias, still looking grim and concerned, scooted aside so he could get through the doorframe. Albus grasped his forearm briefly as they passed. 'Thank you,' he said again, trying to convey sincerity in the words._

 _And he left his friend and his future behind._

 _'What took you so long?' his brother demanded: white, furious face appearing around the crack in the door. Though he was more than two years Albus' junior, he was nearly as tall already, with a somewhat burlier build._

 _'Aberforth – I only just got the message,' he said, trying to calm the tremble in his voice. 'I came at once. What happened? Where is she?'_

 _Aberforth stepped aside, glowering, and Albus squeezed through the doorframe. 'In the kitchen,' his brother said. 'I didn't want to move her… I didn't know what was best. The Ministry might ask questions…'_

 _Albus suddenly understood, in a swoop of increased horror. He turned to stare at Aberforth, as though the latter might contradict the notion._

 _Instead, his brother nodded._

 _'I don't know what set her off,' he admitted in a low whisper. 'She was already in a rage by the time I arrived back – I'd only gone down to the market to fetch something for supper. I wasn't gone ten minutes. I –'_

 _'Where is Ariana?' Albus asked over the stream of consciousness._

 _'Up-upstairs,' Aberforth said, swallowing hard. 'I put a potion into some goat's milk for her. I thought it would be better –'_

 _'Yes,' Albus agreed at once. 'Yes, that's good.' He made his way into the kitchen without another word, his brother at his heels._

 _Kendra Dumbledore was sprawled upon the floor, very clearly dead. Her face was greyish and slashed with odd, blackened welts… pieces of the hob and counter littering the folds of her skirts and the tiled floor. Albus had a sudden urge to vomit at the sight. Instead, he knelt at her side and brushed raven locks streaked with grey from her temple. He tried to imagine it was some other broken figure before him. He tried to keep it together._

 _'The marks,' Aberforth whispered, sounding as revolted as Albus felt. 'Albus – we cannot call for anyone with her looking like this… what if they recognise it? After everything…'_

 _Albus thought quickly. He doubted most would realise how Kendra Dumbledore had died. Children like Ariana had not existed in Britain in centuries. But they had no way of knowing who might answer the call, should they reach out to St Mungo's or the Ministry. It would be obvious she had died from a magical incident. They might open an inquiry…_

 _And would they be lucky enough that nobody who came on such a mission would have travelled to more troubled parts of the world? Would nobody have read of this phenomenon?_

 _He pulled the dragon heartstring wand from Kendra's limp hand._

 _'Go up and sit with Ariana,' he suggested quietly to his brother._

 _Aberforth bristled. 'I will not go anywhere, Albus,' he hissed in reply._

 _Albus fixed him with a penetrating stare. 'That was not a request.'_

 _Aberforth snorted. 'You are not in charge of me, Albus.'_

 _'I am in charge of both of you now,' Albus disagreed. 'And I am telling you to go, Aberforth. Mother would have wanted –'_

 _'How could_ you _know what she would have wanted?' Aberforth demanded hotly. 'You barely knew her! You barely knew either of them, Albus. You haven't been home in years. You went off with Doge straight from school… you were barely here five days last summer!'_

 _'I was completing research in France, Aberforth, you know that,' Albus reasoned. 'I was needed –'_

 _'You were needed_ here _,' his brother said stubbornly. 'But you weren't here, were you?_ I _was the one who came and looked after them – mother and Ari both._ I'm _the one who can calm her down…'_

 _'Well, you didn't calm her very well tonight, did you?' Albus snapped._

 _The moment the words left him, he regretted them. Aberforth, staring back at him through precisely the same blue eyes, looked as though Albus had levelled a punch._

 _'I'm sorry,' he apologised. 'I should not have said that. This was not your fault.' He sighed. 'But please, Aberforth – go upstairs. I don't want you to see this.'_

 _'What are you going to do?' Aberforth asked – though with a bit less rancour in his tone._

 _'I am going to make this look like an accident she created herself,' Albus explained. 'But to hide the marks… I will have to make it messier. I do not want you to see her like that.'_

 _Aberforth seemed to teeter. 'No,' he said after a moment. 'No, I… I want to stay.'_

 _Albus sighed again. 'Very well,' he agreed at last. 'But stand behind me.'_

 _He looked one last time at his mother's face before he cast a shield to protect himself and his brother. And then he pointed her wand, and cast a charm that would ruin her._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'You look well,' Albus said, as his visitor joined him in the private parlour upstairs.

His eyes had been on the single portrait, but he tore them away as Bill Weasley shut the door. The latter glanced curiously up at it before his gaze found Albus.

'As do you,' he agreed with a nod. 'Has Harry returned?'

'He has,' the headmaster replied, smiling. 'And have you had a chance to get home at all while your brothers are on holiday?'

Bill grinned. 'Not yet. But I'll be taking two weeks around the Quidditch Cup final. Charlie's put in for the time as well, so we'll all be back at the Burrow. I swear Mum's already started cooking.'

Albus gave a light chuckle. 'I am sure.'

He refreshed his own wine and poured a goblet full for Bill, and settled back into his armchair. The young man took the chair opposite. Albus added his own privacy wards to the door while Bill tested the wine. He was sure his brother had taken precautions… but he could not shake his memories of the last time he had been overheard in this room.

'So, Mr Weasley,' he said. 'You asked for this meeting. What news have you to share?'

Bill cut directly to the chase. 'He wonders whether you are any further in tracing the necklace,' he said. 'He offers a theory.'

'Oh?' said Albus. 'And what theory would that be?'

'He suggests that you inquire at Borgin and Burke's.'

'At Borgin and Burke's?' Albus repeated, pensive. 'An interesting suggestion.'

'He thinks it likely that Merope Gaunt would have needed to pawn the necklace,' Bill explained.

Albus considered him thoughtfully. 'This was Gellert's idea?'

Bill hesitated. 'Borgin and Burke's was his suggestion,' he said. 'But it was I who theorised she may have sold the jewellery.'

'Indeed,' said Albus. 'And how did you come to this conclusion?'

Bill took a sip of the Bordeaux, frowning slightly. 'You've told me, sir, that when You-Know-Who's mother turned up at the orphanage where he was born, she appeared to be destitute – a beggar on the street.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'It is my belief that she swore off all magic when her husband abandoned her. It is, I think, most likely that she entranced him into the relationship to begin with. Perhaps she stopped doing so because she fell pregnant… or perhaps the timing was coincidental. But I suspect there came a day when she could no longer stand to fabricate his love for her. Tom Riddle Snr, as you know, left her. I suspect thenceforth she resolved never to use magic again; or perhaps her grief robbed her of her powers. Great emotional upheaval has been known, on rare occasion, to do so. Either way – by the time her son was born, Merope Gaunt had next to nothing.'

'Yes,' Bill agreed, nodding. 'And it seems doubtful that she had the necklace at that point. She would have left it for her son. Of course, I suppose it is possible that one of the Muggles at the orphanage took possession of it…'

'Not likely,' Albus negated. 'I met myself with one woman who was present. There was nothing in her thoughts to suggest guilt or deceit. It is, of course, possible that someone else might have thieved the locket… but I doubt it.'

'As do I,' Bill agreed. 'If she was that destitute to wander in off the street and birth her child in an orphanage, she was most certainly penniless. And poverty like that… if she had the chance to sell something – to make it easier for her child – she'd have done it. From what you've told me, the locket was the only thing of value that Merope Gaunt possessed. I think she would have tried to trade it.'

Albus nodded again. 'Perfectly logical,' he agreed. 'And I take it you voiced this opinion to Gellert?'

'I did,' said Bill. 'I suggested Midas' Corner in Diagon Alley. London does seem the most likely option, and I still think Midas' would be worth investigating. But Grindelwald seems to think Borgin and Burke's the more probable choice.'

'Does he indeed? He is probably right… It is less in the main bustle of town; and far less apt to draw inquiry,' Albus opined.

Bill levelled a sharp look. 'That is precisely how he phrased it,' he said.

Albus nodded again – his face impassive. 'Well then, that is where we should start,' he said.

Bill's eyes were still narrowed. 'It seemed,' he continued determinedly, 'That he was familiar with the shop… almost as though he'd been there before.'

Albus said nothing.

'He seems awfully familiar with Britain in general,' Bill went on. 'Which is odd – for an Albanian-born German whose entire magical education and career, as far as I've ever known, was concentrated outside our country.'

'Gellert has been to Britain,' Albus confirmed.

'When?' Bill pressed.

Albus sighed. 'A very, very long time ago,' he answered evasively.

He sighed again, refilling the goblets for a second time as he leaned forward a bit in his chair.

'Do you remember, Bill, what I told you when we prepared together for this assignment?'

He waited, but Bill did not respond. Above the fireplace, Ariana began toying with a lock of her long blonde hair.

'Gellert Grindelwald is a master at manipulation,' Albus said. 'It is his greatest strength.'

'My shields are intact,' Bill insisted. 'I have never –'

'I did not think that you did,' Albus assured him. 'But there are other ways to read a person – beyond what might be gleaned from Legilimency. To take advantage, for example, of those they care about; things they yearn to know; information they consider sacred.'

Bill looked confused. 'I don't understand, sir,' he said. 'What are you implying?'

'You spoke with him about what happened to your sister,' Albus said.

Bill stiffened. 'Well, of course we did,' he defended. 'You _sent_ me there to discuss things like that; to help you with this mission. Of course what happened to Ginny came up.'

Albus tipped his head. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'I did. And I do not fault you for the discussion, Bill.'

' _You_ never explained to me what happened. Or to Mum, or Dad –'

'And it is vital that they do not know,' Albus interrupted. 'You are quite right, Bill. Indeed, if there is any blame in this particular situation, it lies with myself. I should have been honest with you. I should have told you everything about what happened with Ginny. And certainly, I should have done so before I sent you to Gellert.'

'My parents have the right to know,' said Bill. 'You should –'

'I cannot,' said Albus firmly. 'Please, understand me,' he continued, when Bill showed every sign of wishing to interject. 'I do not disagree with you. Molly and Arthur have every right to know what happened to their daughter – and, one day, I will explain everything to them myself. But at the moment, this mission – these conversations – must be kept in utmost secrecy. You cannot tell your parents of the horcruxes' existence. We cannot tell anyone. _Nobody_ , Bill, aside from myself, Gellert and yourself, is aware that Voldemort created these objects… with the exception of their maker, of course. That the circle remain small is paramount. Molly and Arthur must not know.'

Albus could tell Bill was unhappy keeping the secret – but he nodded all the same.

'In future,' he said, giving Albus a look that rivalled his own, 'I would appreciate it if you levelled with me, at least, headmaster.'

'I shall,' Albus promised. 'To the extent that I possibly can. That Gellert was able to exploit your concern for your little sister to trade on his own information was a circumstance I ought to have foreseen. And, had I taken the precaution I ought to have done, one which I could have prevented. I will not make the same mistake again. But I ask that you, Bill, also bear in mind that Gellert Grindelwald is not a man to be trusted.'

'I don't trust him,' Bill denied. 'Never.'

'You do, and you do not,' Albus disagreed. 'That cannot be helped. He has a way of making himself decidedly useful. A way of seeing the world that seems to invite others into the view. His brilliance knows nearly no match, and it is as intoxicating as it is frightening.'

'With all due respect, sir,' Bill said with a small smile, 'You might be describing yourself.'

Albus did not chuckle this time.

'I am quite sure that I am,' he said in turn. He stood, draining the last of his wine.

'Men are made powerful far less by their own talents then by the trust that others place in them,' he said gently. 'Remember that.'

And he bid the very perplexed-looking Bill Weasley a good evening.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _The first week was difficult. There was the funeral to arrange, of course: a very private burial in the local churchyard. They had to sedate Ariana again to have it – for it would have looked too odd to the few friends invited for either of the boys to miss, and leaving their sister with another was out of the question. Albus hated that part most of all._

 _Ariana was not fully aware of what had transpired that day in the kitchen… her memory of the episodes was not always precise. Still, she knew it had been bad. Albus told her that their mother had slipped in the chaos and struck her head on the corner of the countertop. Aberforth had not liked this. He wanted to tell their sister the truth… but this made Albus nervous. He did not wish to set her off again. Even less did he want her to live with the knowledge. Her recall had grown worse as she aged – just as the fits themselves had…. As the magic strengthened, taking more and more of her control. In all his research, Albus had never heard of anther Obscurial living past age ten. They knew they were on borrowed time already._

 _The Healers who came to take their mother's corpse did bring along someone from the Ministry – as Albus had guessed they would. He did not have to fake his shock and horror. He knew the Ministry witch: Gilly Walsh from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He had met with her only that morning. She seemed to accept what looked like the obvious, and Albus could read sympathy in her eyes as she clasped his shoulder while the Healers carted Kendra Dumbledore away._

 _She thought it was a tragedy – two young boys alone and motherless. She did not realise just how far the tragedy stretched._

 _The second week was harder. Some of the shock and numbness of grief had started – not to dissipate, precisely – but to solidify in Albus' soul in a way that allowed for other thoughts to creep in. Through his sorrow, resentment began to fester._

 _He was trapped, now. Wasted. All those years of study and work – for naught. What could he do to change the world, when he could never leave Godric's Hollow? How could he mingle with the finest minds, when he could not take his sister from these walls? How was he even to fulfil his promise to find a cure for her… if all his waking hours must now be spent ensuring she did not come to harm?_

 _He was hardly good at even that. Ariana barely knew him anymore – and trusted him far less. The unfamiliarity of failure was frustrating to him; and his frustration fuelled her restlessness. Three times in the fortnight after his mother's death she teetered on the edge of explosion once again… and three times Albus was forced to rely on his brother's assistance to calm her._

 _'I can take care of her,' Aberforth insisted stubbornly, after the third occurrence. 'If this is so impossible for you – just leave. We all know you'd rather be in London anyway. Even she can tell.'_

 _'Do not be ridiculous,' Albus retorted hotly. 'We are family. Of course I shall stay. And you, Aberforth, have three years of school left to finish. Come September –'_

 _'I've told you, I'll leave,' his brother snapped back. 'Books and lectures… what does it matter to me? You're the studious one, Albus. I couldn't care –'_

 _'You will not leave your education unfinished,' Albus said firmly. 'Mother would not want –'_

 _'Mother would want Ariana cared for,' Aberforth interrupted. 'It's what she died for, Albus.'_

 _'You are not leaving school early, and that is final,' Albus ordered._

 _He snatched a thick scroll off the table – his latest effort at an article for_ The Practical Potioneer _. Their mother – not having worked outside the home since before Albus could remember – had not left them much by way of gold. Nearly everything in the family vault had been spent. If Albus could not endeavour a way to furnish some sort of income, they were going to run out before long._

 _'I am going to post this,' he said, already striding for the door. 'Keep a watch out while I am gone, please.'_

 _He could have waited for his own owl to return, of course; or borrowed Aberforth's. But Albus had hardly left the house since they'd buried their mother… and he needed a moment to breathe._

 _He walked the whole length of the street twice before he knocked on the door._

 _'Oh, it's you Albus!' Bathilda Bagshot greeted, giving him a warm smile. 'What a lovely surprise.'_

 _'I am sorry to bother you,' he apologised. 'But I wondered whether I might borrow your owl?' He lifted the letter in explanation. 'My own is engaged on another delivery at the moment.'_

 _'Of course, of course,' she said, stepping back to allow him thr6ough into the hall. 'Let me fetch him. Would you like a cup of tea?'_

 _'No, thank you,' he declined politely. 'I should not leave Aberforth and Ariana alone too long.'_

 _'You poor dears,' she said in sympathy, shaking her head. 'I have been meaning to come by, but I was travelling this past week or so.'_

 _'The Cauldron Cakes you sent were wonderful,' he said, forcing a smile of his own. 'It was very kind of you.'_

 _'It was nothing at all, my dear boy,' she insisted sadly. 'I was very fond of Kendra. And I lost my own mother when I was not much older than yourself. I remember how hard it was… Are you eating enough?' She scrutinised him a bit more suspiciously. 'You look rather pale.'_

 _'I am well enough,' he assured her. 'Just… missing mother, I suppose. And it is taking longer than I expected to settle back in here,' he admitted, surprising himself with the honesty._

 _Bathilda sighed. 'Well, I do insist on the tea,' she said firmly. 'Go on into the sitting room. I'll fetch Bowman and put the kettle on. In fact…' her eyes sparkled for a moment. 'Yes, let me see if he's up.'_

 _She dashed off in the direction of the staircase. Albus, slightly confused, nonetheless headed for the sitting room as she'd requested. He gazed out the window in the direction of his own home. He could not see any sign of disturbance from here. The late afternoon haze of heat had given way to drizzle since he'd entered Bathilda's house. He watched the drops catch on the panes without much interest._

 _'Albus?'_

 _He turned. Bathilda had entered the room carrying the promised owl… but the bird was not her only companion. Behind her strode an unfamiliar young man._

 _He was a very handsome boy of sixteen or seventeen, if Albus had to guess. Certainly older than Aberforth… perhaps a bit younger than himself. He had hair of precisely the same shade of blond as Bathilda's, and wore high-necked robes of deep black. Everything about him was angular – from the prominent cheekbones to the cut of his clothing. His eyes, searching Albus' own with a peculiar intensity, were a very distinctive shade of violet. Their gaze both captivated and unnerved Albus in equal measure._

 _'Albus, this is my nephew Gellert,' Bathilda said, stepping aside and sweeping a hand toward the boy. 'He has just returned with me from Germany, and is planning to stay a few months in the village. Perhaps you could keep each other company while I knock something up for tea.'_

 _She smiled and hurried off, leaving the two young men to face one another. Neither spoke for a moment._

 _'She speaks of you often,' the other boy said at last, still studying Albus as the latter reached for the owl. 'It is interesting to put a face to the name.'_

 _Albus fumbled to tie the scroll around the owl's leg. 'Our family has been friendly with Bathilda since we moved here,' he said, finishing the knot. 'You must be her sister's son.'_

 _'Indeed,' he agreed with a small nod. 'I am sorry to hear about your mother.'_

 _'Thank you,' Albus said. There was a moment of uncertain quiet. Albus rather wished Bathilda would hurry with the tea. 'Has your mother come to stay as well?' he asked, when it became clear he was not to be rescued in time._

 _Gellert shook his head. 'I came alone,' he answered. 'I recently left school, and I wanted to visit Godric's Hollow for my research. It is a very famous village, as I am sure you know.'_

 _Albus turned from the window where he had been releasing the owl, more interested. 'It is,' he agreed. 'Are you working in Magical History as well?'_

 _Gellert seemed to consider a moment. 'Not precisely,' he hedged. 'We have… different areas of interest. I suppose you could say history factors into my own work, but the theory I am developing is, I hope, far more than a by-gone fancy to be memorialised in parchment only.'_

 _'I rather think your aunt would take umbrage with such a dismissal,' Albus opined, frowning. 'History is as important an area of study as ever existed. Without it, we are predisposed to repeat the mistakes of the past.'_

 _'True enough,' the boy consented. 'And I would never discount it for that value. But the true aim of scholarship, as you have so rightly alluded to, lies not in what is, but what_ could _be. It is not about changing the past, but building the future.'_

 _'And that is your area of interest, I take it?'_

 _'In a broad sense, yes,' Gellert agreed. 'As it is yours, I imagine. What other sort of wizard would have authored a paper contending there are more than three uses of Dragon's Blood?'_

 _Albus' eyes narrowed. Gellert shrugged._

 _'I peeked as you were fastening the letter,' he admitted without shame. 'But there is no need for concern. I happen to agree. In fact, I have long suspected five to be a more accurate –'_

 _'Eight,' Albus countered, with just a touch of smugness. 'So far. But I have not completed the research entirely. I anticipate there will be at least two more.'_

 _Now his companion looked surprised. 'Interesting,' he said, tapping a finger against his lips. 'Perhaps… twelve in total, then.'_

 _'Twelve?' Albus repeated. 'How do you calculate?'_

 _'Well, if you already have eight, then it isn't seven or three,' Gellert explained. 'Dragon's blood is a highly magical property. So –'_

 _'It is far more likely that it would have uses numbering to three, seven or twelve,' Albus finished for him, intrigued. 'Yes… I suppose. Not exactly an Arithmantic calculation, but the theory seems plausible.'_

 _Gellert was smirking. 'Perhaps we can work on it together, while I am here,' he suggested. 'I have not been around a cauldron in months; I rather miss it. And I should like to hear your thoughts on my own research… though perhaps I assume too much,' the boy amended. 'We have not even properly introduced ourselves.'_

 _It was a clear invitation… but for a moment, Albus struggled to accept. He had spent nearly a fortnight resigning himself to a solitary life – days consumed in seclusion and secrecy. Forming new friendships was not wise; not now. And yet…_

 _It couldn't_ really _hurt, could it? This boy was in the neighbourhood, after all. It was not as though he'd be running off to London. And Aberforth would be here until September… By then, this boy would probably be gone. By then, perhaps he would be able to publish research which could keep them all afloat for years. Perhaps this boy was the key._

 _Albus held out a hand. 'Albus Dumbledore,' he said formally._

 _The blond youth surveyed it for a moment, as though appraising the possibilities. Then he gave a dazzlingly white smile and clasped the hand with his own. His grip was decidedly strong._

 _'Grindelwald,' he said, violet eyes meeting blue. 'Gellert Grindelwald.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Remus woke to the sound of banging and scraping on the floor below. He groaned, flipping around in the comfortable bed and cracking his eyelids a fraction. The room he'd chosen – last to the left – had seemed a deep blue the night before. Now, with the morning sunlight streaming through gossamer curtains at the window, he could see it was actually a lighter shade – nearly matching the sky outdoors. The amount of light did not surprise him; he always overslept this close to the moon. Clearly, he had managed to sleep later than Sirius this morning… an impressive feat, even at this time of the month. He supposed Sirius had got bored of waiting and wandered down from his own room.

There was a clanging of metal on metal. It sounded as though Sirius were making break-

 _Oh MERLIN._

Remus leapt out of the bed, barely managing to keep his balance as he fumbled for the dressing gown he'd chucked on the chair the night before. He was still tying the sash as he stumbled clumsily down the stairs, catching his trip on the edge of the kitchen door.

He was in time, though only just. A huge iron saucepan stood ready on the hob, but thus far it was empty. Flames were already going beneath it. Remus said a silent incantation as he pointed his wand to douse them.

Sirius did not even notice. He was dressed already in Muggle jeans and a Weird Sisters shirt Remus was sure Ophelia had gifted him, barefoot on the tile as he dug through a wicker basket with gleeful enthusiasm.

'Morning,' Remus grunted as he straightened from his panic.

'Excellent – they've sent bangers,' Sirius said excitedly by way of greeting, pulling a brown paper packet from the deceptively small basket on the kitchen counter. 'You want, Moony? Got at least a dozen eggs in here…'

'Hand it here,' Remus sighed, sweeping over and wrenching the carton out of his hands. 'You sit. I'll make breakfast.'

His friend rolled his eyes in a put-upon sort of way, but relinquished the eggs. Remus set them to cracking themselves over the saucepan while he began to unwrap the sausages.

'You don't have to worry over everything,' Sirius grumbled, throwing himself onto a high stool at the island. 'I didn't forget how to cook in Azkaban.'

'I'm not worried that you've forgotten,' Remus countered calmly as he prodded the hob with his wand to restart the fire at a more practical level. 'Just conscious that you've never known how.'

Sirius snorted. 'It was one time,' he protested. 'And I was sixteen…'

'Seventeen,' Remus corrected, throwing the bangers in with the eggs. 'And if Euphemia hadn't come in…'

'All right, all right,' Sirius relented grumpily. 'You can do the cooking then.'

Remus grinned. 'You can handle the dishes,' he suggested instead, flicking his wand so the correct cupboard sprang open.

They ate in cheery comfort, both famished from the excitement of the night before. Sirius did not raise the argument with Dumbledore, and Remus let it lie – for now.

'It's a lovely day,' he said, as Sirius charmed the basin to start the washing up. 'Shall we take our tea outside?'

Sirius agreed, and they made their way through the window-walled back room onto the expansive veranda. A salty breeze caressed their faces as they settled into huge white wicker chairs, and the waves of the sea below crashed in a steady rhythm on the shore. Remus set a book he'd summoned onto the wooden table between them, but did not yet open it. Sirius, apparently sated from his anxious fidgeting with the surplus of eggs, leaned back into his own chair and propped his feet up on the cover of Remus' novel. He rescued it with a grunt of half-hearted annoyance.

'Wish Dumbledore'd brought Harry by today,' Sirius said, squinting in the bright sunlight.

'Albus wanted us to have a few days to settle in first,' Remus reminded him. 'He'll be by soon enough.'

'Settle in what?' Sirius retorted. 'House's all set up.'

'Well, we haven't really talked about what happened at the end of term,' Remus said delicately.

Sirius sat up a bit straighter in the chair, frowning. 'What more is there to talk about?' he asked gruffly. 'We've gone over it a dozen times since you turned up at Batty's… There's no way to track Wormtail now, and Dumbledore says –'

'I didn't mean Peter's escape,' Remus cut in. 'I meant what happened before, Sirius. Everything that happened in the grounds. Everything that happened the previous twelve years…'

Sirius' gaze darkened. 'Wormtail betrayed us all,' he recapped. 'And for that he should –'

'Not Wormtail, you prat,' Remus said, frustrated. 'You. Everything that happened to _you_. Spending near a dozen years in Azkaban for a crime you did not commit; living with those horrors swooping about every moment of the day and night; escaping, surviving the run… I want to know what you went through, Sirius. I want to discuss why it is you could no longer produce a Patronus.'

Sirius' glower deepened. He kicked out of his slouch, planting both feet firmly on the wooden planks of the veranda. Remus could tell he was debating a retreat out of the sun. 'What's in the past is in the past, Remus,' he growled. 'I don't fancy a chat about it.'

'I'm sure you don't,' Remus said softly. 'But you need to, Sirius.'

Sirius scoffed. 'You think _talking_ about it will help, do you? I don't want to talk about it, Remus. I want to forget it ever happened. I'm moving forward.'

'Burying what happened will not help you to overcome the scars it has left you with,' Remus disagreed. 'Talking it through will help. I promise.'

Sirius glared at a bird winging its way over the sea in the distance. He did not speak.

'What is there to talk about that hasn't been said?' he asked, finally.

Remus sighed. 'Let's make an agreement,' he suggested. 'We'll take it in turns. Answer me honestly… and then you can ask me something in return. Anything you want.'

Sirius considered him shrewdly for a moment. 'Anything?' he clarified. Remus nodded. 'Alright then,' Sirius agreed, kicking his feet back up. 'But I get to go first. Who was the last person you shagged?'

Remus rolled his eyes impatiently. 'This is serious, Sirius,' he chastised.

'I couldn't be more so,' Sirius insisted. 'Go on then.'

'A Muggle,' Remus said curtly. 'Her name was Katerina, and we met over pints at an inn when I was travelling in Germany. She was only staying the one night, driving south to visit family.'

'In Germany?' Sirius repeated, eyebrows raised. 'I thought you said you were in Albania right before you came back?'

'I was,' Remus agreed. 'I was doing some work for Dumbledore in the year or so before I returned to Hogwarts…'

'So you're telling me you haven't shagged _anyone_ since you left Germany?' Sirius needled. Remus hesitated, and Sirius' eyes narrowed. ' _When_ were you travelling in Germany?' he accused.

'Just after I arrived,' Remus admitted through gritted teeth.

' _Just after you_ –'

'I said I would be honest,' Remus reminded him shortly. 'And it isn't as though I am looking for anything resembling commitment.'

Sirius' mocking expression softened. 'Moony, you don't have to –'

'It doesn't matter,' Remus interrupted hurriedly.

This conversation was not going at all as he'd intended. It was supposed to be Sirius' issues they were addressing.

'Tell me about the Patronus,' he redirected.

'That's not a question.'

'Sirius,' Remus growled. 'You know what I mean. Tell me what happened when the Dementors swarmed the lawn.'

Sirius shifted uncomfortably, crossing his bare feet. 'There isn't much to tell.'

'Sirius…'

'I'm not winding you up,' Sirius insisted. 'There just… isn't. They came so fast – just when I thought everything was about to right itself at long last. Hundreds of them. I _wanted_ to do something… but I knew it could never work. Even without those foul creatures around, I had already tried the spell dozens of times – over and over when I was practising in that damn shack. It never came back to me. I can't do it any longer.'

'Why do you think that is?' Remus asked, perfectly neutral.

Sirius shrugged. 'Could be you can't, if you've been around them so long…' he mused. 'Or maybe it's just all the things that get in the way. Almost everyone I've ever loved is dead – all except Harry, and you,' he said, giving Remus a sad smile. 'Their faces used to give me the strength for the spell, and now they are what I see when the Dementors draw near – distorted and ruined in death. Sometimes it seems all my comforts have turned against me. There are so many bad memories… and they come a lot easier than the good ones. Even now, so many months later. When my mind stumbles over a pleasant memory, it's unexpected and miraculous all at once. I used to think that feeling would fade, once I got used to being outside again. Maybe it still will.'

Remus nodded pensively. It was more than he had expected, for a first attempt. He did not offer empty platitudes or false confidence. He knew Sirius would see through them. And in any case: this was the time for truths.

So he gave one.

'Four years, eleven months and eighteen days,' he said.

Sirius' gaze refocused from its drift out to sea. He frowned. 'Pardon?'

'Four years, eleven months and eighteen days,' Remus repeated. 'That's how long it took me, after James and Lily died. After you were sent away. After I thought Peter…'

He sighed. 'I did not have half the challenges you will face,' he admitted. 'But it was not easy for me, either. After Dumbledore told me what had happened, it was as if my last tether to the world had snapped. I hated the sight of familiar faces – reminders that others survived while everything and everyone I cared for was gone. I could not stand company, and I could not stand solitude. I could not take the celebration. I could not tolerate even Albus' understanding… so I ran. I was on the continent an hour after James and Lily were interred. Until Albus called, I am not certain I would ever have returned.'

The tea he'd carted out to the veranda had cooled past comfort. He banished the dregs with a lazy flick of his wand, just to allow himself a moment. Sirius did not interrupt.

'I encountered the Dementors my first week in Germany,' he said. 'Deep in the forest, walking back from a secluded grove where I had secured myself for the change. When I realised I would not be able to conjure a defence…' he shuddered. 'It was as if someone had taken my powers entirely. I felt weak – ashamed. Thoroughly beaten. I would have been destroyed entirely, had not I had the last scrap of energy to apparate before the worst set in.'

He shook back a sleeve, showing Padfoot a long gash across one wrist.

'Splinched myself,' he explained. 'But it was a miracle all the same. It took me years and years before the Patronus returned.'

'How did it?' Sirius asked hoarsely.

Remus shrugged. 'Time,' he admitted. 'Practise, and acceptance; but mostly, time. It's never been as easy, and it's never been as strong… but the spell returned after a while, when I started to be able to remember the things I loved about the people who left me, and not just the fact that they were gone. When I could let go of some portion of the past, and allow some hope for a future.'

Sirius nodded slowly, his eyes on the ocean again. There was a sadness in the silence, but Remus did not want to break it. He thought, perhaps, they had done enough in the serious conversation for today.

'Dumbledore says the sea has Healing properties,' Sirius said after a moment. He turned, offering half a smile. 'Shall we see if he's been spouting nonsense again?'

They pushed out of their chairs in unison, tromping down the long, rickety staircase that led right to the stretch of beach. Sirius was stripping before they even touched sand, and Remus followed suit, letting the salty wind whip his clothing into the high grass without a care how scattered the items might become. He might have transfigured their shorts, but Sirius had already plunged before he could whip out his wand. So Remus too dove.

The water was glorious. It was chillier than could be called precisely comfortable, but all the more refreshing for the temperature. Remus emerged in a swell of surf, and was promptly peppered with additional droplets as Sirius shook out his hair, sighing before leaning back into the lapping waves and submerging the locks once more. Remus laid back too. They floated in silence, sunlight warming their chests and contrasting with the icy sea floor, where they dragged their toes to slow the drift of the current. It was the first real moment of peace Remus had felt in weeks. He closed his eyes, relaxing into the caress of the waves and listening to the gulls call to one another overhead.

It was a long while later that he felt the water shift beside him, and knew his companion had stood. Remus shifted upright in response.

'You said you ran?' Sirius recounted, frowning as he rubbed seaweed from his ear and picking up as though they'd never abandoned their earlier chat. 'Left Britain – set off for the continent without looking back.'

'Yes…' he said slowly, treading in the shallow waves.

Sirius continued to frown. 'Why did you leave Harry?' he accused.

Remus rubbed a hand over his face. 'Why did you?' he returned quietly.

There was a long stretch of silence. Mutual regret seemed to seep through the air between them – vaster and deeper and far less imposing than the sea itself.

'I could not see what was important,' Remus admitted at last in a whisper. 'I could not see anything past my own grief.'

'Nor could I,' Sirius said, just as quietly. 'But I do… I can see it, now.'

He laid back again and Remus copied – letting the waves float them both along.

But this time, both men kept their eyes wide open.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus did not have much experience with Muggle hospitals. He had no non-magical friends. Lily's father had been the only Muggle physician Severus had ever met, and he had worked in a small office in the village. He had never been admitted to a Muggle hospital as a child, and his father had not been particularly careful about his own health.

The only memory he had of ever visiting a Muggle hospital in his youth was one bleak day in March, when Mrs Simsbury had called to tell his mother that Tobias had been in a fight at the pubs, and Eileen had taken Severus along to retrieve him. He had only been five or so at the time, and he could recall feeling confused that Tobias was in the A&E… as the situation had seemed neither accidental nor emergent to him.

His mother had allowed an orderly of some sort to lead him off into a children's waiting room while she saw to Tobias and some paperwork (and, Severus strongly suspected in the aftermath, the Muggle police). He remembered being set in front of a telly with a dozen or so other children: all Muggle, and all enraptured by some animated film. He too had been fascinated by it. They did not have a television in Spinners End. His father might have liked one, but they never could afford it. Severus had been sure it had to be magic… how could electricity be making these talking characters? The sound? The colours?

The film, too, had been amazing at first. There were witches in it. They had drawn them wings and called them fairies, but Severus knew better. This had to be a ploy for the Muggles watching… Fairies didn't use wands. The good witches had to hide their magic so that they wouldn't be spotted by the evil one looking for the princess. They had to live like Muggles, just like Severus and his mum had to when Tobias was in the house. The green one was sort of like his mother… sweet, and kind, and easily compliant with the will of the red one. But she, Severus thought, really struggled the most to live without magical help, however hard she tried. Severus didn't have a wand yet, of course, but he thought he would have been more like the blue one. He wouldn't have given up his magic without a fight… and he would have stolen the wand back as soon as he could.

For all that hiding, the dark one found them anyway. The other children shrieked and cried, but Severus was not surprised. He was far more shocked when the Muggle boy beat the sorceress in the end… though he supposed that was really only because the good witches had helped.

After that, the magic started to annoy him. The film ended with a ridiculous squabble between the red witch and the blue one, both trying to change the colour of the princess' dress: the exact same argument that had landed them in so much trouble to begin with. Severus thought they were both stupid. If it were _him_ , he'd have simply cast his spell on the other witch. Then he could have made fifty dresses in the colour he preferred.

That visit had been nearly thirty years ago. Severus had his wand now. He was out of that house. He wasn't _supposed_ to ever need to interact with this man again.

Yet here he was, all the same.

He felt distinctly out of his element in every possible way, approaching the Muggle receptionist through the main entrance in his uncomfortable black trousers and oxford shirt. She had curly hair in the same shade of red that Lily's had been; but hers, Severus could tell, had been bought through a cheap colouring job. She seemed to sense his otherness as well. Her eyes raked over the all-black outfit, the long hair tied back with a length of leather. Severus could tell that she found him dangerous… and, oddly, that this seemed to interest her.

'The room?' he repeated.

'Er… right you are sir, right you are,' the woman said, fumbling with an odd mechanical box in front of her that Severus thought might be a computer. 'Tobias… Snape, did you say? He's in Room 426, sir. Take the lifts on up, hang a left, and it'll be the third door on your right.'

Severus nodded stiffly in acknowledgement and strode for the indicated lifts. They were painfully slow in coming. He queued up next to a middle-aged couple and a tired looking woman holding a toddler in the midst of a wobbly. The couple were chattering excitedly. Severus saw the woman held a bouquet of flowers and the man clutched several balloons in a garish shade of pink. He pressed the call button down again irritably.

The sluggish lift stopped twice on the climb to the fourth level, depositing the bubbly couple on the second and the snivelling toddler and his mother on the third. Severus was impatient for his own stop but found, when the metal doors dinged open at last, that he wasn't quite sure he wanted to get off. An elderly man in a long white coat, however, stuck a hand in the door and looked at him expectantly… and Severus was forced to exit.

'Mackenzie Cancer Ward' was written in gold lettering on a plaque on the wall. Severus stared at it for a moment.

 _So, this was what was killing his father._

Severus could not help a sense of let-down. How strange it was…

How many times had he imagined ways for his father to die? How many glorious, intricate scenarios had he envisioned in his mind for decades? And yet, at the end… Tobias Snape's death would be a common one.

How dull.

'Can I help, sir?'

Severus turned. It was a young woman – perhaps a nurse on the ward. This country hospital, despite its computer system, appeared not to have shifted from the traditional dress. The woman wore a blue-grey frock, and a white pinny and cap. She had a pretty smile, kind eyes and a highly competent air. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, though Severus was certain they had never met before.

'No,' he answered shortly. 'I know where I am going.'

The woman did not seem offended by Severus' obvious impoliteness. Perhaps she was used to dealing with stress and temper, working in this particular ward.

Severus stepped around her and made his way down the corridor. The door to his father's room was open. It was overly sterile, and Severus could scent bleach, alcohol and iodine. But even the strong Muggle cleaners could not mask the circling doom.

The room smelled like death.

He slid in silently and shut the door. He was not sure that was strictly allowed… but he did not particularly care.

'You came.'

The voice was thin and feeble, as was the man in the bed. Gone was the paunch from excess of drink; the muscled forearms; the strong back. His father was emaciated – almost skeletal. What little skin was not covered by bedding or tubing or tape looked an odd shade of pale… like milk gone off. Everything about him was shrunken, and Severus wondered if the wasting of disease had taken his father's height, or if he had always been this small.

One thing was certain – he could not have struck even a Labrador now.

Severus did not reply to the greeting. He stepped a few paces closer to the bed, staring down with his arms crossed from the foot. Tobias tracked his approach with yellowed eyes.

'You look well,' he said in that same reedy whisper. 'Grown. Of course, you must be nearing thirty now…'

'I am thirty-four,' Severus replied. They were the first words he'd spoken, and he knew they sounded stiff and hollow.

Tobias nodded, shifting against the pillows. 'The morphine,' he said, by way of meagre excuse. 'It muddles me, somewhat… But that's good. Thirty-four… are you married? Children?'

'Neither.'

His father frowned. 'You should be married,' he lectured. 'What about that girl – the one from up the way, with the ginger hair? I always thought –'

'She is dead,' Severus said, more stiffly still. 'She died many years ago.'

'I am sorry,' his father offered, studying Severus' face. 'I am sure that was hard for –'

'I did not come to speak of Lily,' Severus said in a hiss. 'And I certainly shall not, with you.'

His father continued to frown, but he bowed his head. 'I deserve that,' he said softly. 'But still, you should find someone. Marriage… family… they're important, Severus.'

'Are they?' Severus challenged with a sardonic raised eyebrow. 'I would not have thought to hear it from your lips. What could you know of family?'

'I squandered my chance, when I had it,' Tobias admitted huskily. 'That's why I know, boy.'

'You did,' Severus agreed.

One of the machines above the bed gave a beep. The kind-faced nurse appeared nearly at once, selecting one of the tubes in Tobias' arm and pushing some sort of medication into it through a syringe. Severus considered this with narrowed eyes.

'Nothing to worry about,' the woman said as she straightened, apparently misreading his scrutiny for concern. 'Routine dose – every two hours.'

Severus did not reply.

'I can send the oncologist in, if you wish,' she offered. 'I'm sure he would be willing to answer any questions you might have.'

'Thank you, but that shan't be necessary,' he declined.

The nurse adjusted a few of the other monitors and bustled out of the room again. Severus watched her out of sight, then clicked the door shut once more.

'So, what is it that's killing you?' he asked in monotone.

'Cancer,' Tobias answered gruffly.

Severus rolled his eyes. 'What type of cancer?' he pressed. 'What have they given you for it? What is it she just administered?'

Tobias shifted uncomfortably on the bed again. 'Liver, I think. Don't really pay attention to the details.'

'The pharmaceuticals?' Severus asked again.

Tobias shrugged. 'The morphine's all I care about,' he said. 'The rest… what difference does it make? I'm dying all the same – nothing been working for months.'

'What fool does not ask questions?' Severus mocked.

He reached forward and plucked a plastic file off the edge of the bed, where the nurse had scribbled something before she left. He inspected the pages. His father was indeed suffering from liver cancer – in its end stages, by the look of it, which the doctors seemed to attribute to cirrhosis. He supposed the man had finally succeeded in killing himself with drink.

'Are you a doctor now?' Tobias asked curiously.

'No.'

'Then I'd not bother with all that nonsense,' his father opined. 'It's gibberish enough when they try to tell you aloud.'

'It is not gibberish to me,' Severus retorted.

His father's eyes narrowed. 'Your lot don't use our drugs,' he countered, a bit rancorous for the first time. 'What do you know about it?'

'Many compounds are just the same, when you look to their chemical make-up,' Severus lectured. 'Magical healing is far superior to Muggle technologies. Our ingredients are far more natural than your own; but everything starts from a similar base. I am familiar with the basic properties used in most pharmaceuticals. Creating Wizarding draughts is a part of my profession. The opium poppy, for instance, is a central ingredient in the more powerful pain potions. It is also the source from which morphine derives its active agent.'

Tobias looked dumbfounded. Less at the knowledge, Severus suspected, than the length of his response. 'Thought you were a teacher,' he grunted.

Severus considered him suspiciously. 'How would you know?'

'Asked,' Tobias answered, unhelpfully.

Severus teetered for a moment, debating whether to pull the information from his father's mind… but he let it slide, for now. Rooting about in his father's head was not an activity he relished.

'I am a professor, yes,' he clarified. 'The Potions Master at Hogwarts. The Hogwarts professors are all highly accomplished in their various fields.' _Well… most of them, anyway_ , he added mentally.

'Never understood why Lena always loved her magic so much,' Tobias muttered, daring to give a small chuckle as he reminisced on the woman he had all but killed. 'Didn't seem to do much use. Still, suppose you lot have a way to deal with things like this bit easier than us regular folk, eh? She always was banging on about potions…'

Severus sneered. 'Is that why you have called me here?' he challenged in a voice like ice. 'Because you thought I might _assist_ in overcoming whatever Muggle malady is sapping your life? You thought I would _save_ you, did you now?'

Tobias' already jaundiced face paled further. 'No,' he croaked. 'No… that's not why I asked –'

'There is nothing that can be done,' Severus interrupted. 'The cancer is far too advanced, and you do not have Magical blood. Your body could not handle the potions that would be necessary to attempt a cure… and the growths cannot be removed with spellwork alone. You will die either way. Even if I wanted to save you, I could not.'

'I've made my peace with that,' Tobias assured him, shifting on the bed. 'As long as –'

'And I do not want to,' Severus clarified harshly.

Tobias nodded in a vague sort of way, as though he did not much care. Then he grimaced. He closed his eyes for a moment until the wave of pain seemed to pass.

'I'm glad you've come,' he said when he'd opened them again. 'I wasn't sure you would.'

Severus said nothing.

'I… I had… some things,' his father continued. 'Things I wanted to say, before I'm gone. Things we should talk about.'

'We have managed fifteen years of silence,' Severus pointed out. 'I see no reason to revisit the past.'

'Well, I must,' Tobias insisted. 'I am your father –'

'No,' Severus disagreed coldly.

'Severus –'

'You are the man who married my mother, for whatever measly value you placed on the institution,' Severus contradicted. 'You contributed to my biological existence. But you are _not_ my father. You never have been.'

Tobias looked as though Severus' words had physically cut. It was the first time he had ever seen such an emotion in this man's face.

'I…. I know I was awful,' he said in a whisper. 'I know that, Severus. But even through everything, I have always loved –'

'Do not say it,' Severus snarled, knuckles white where they gripped the foot of the bedframe. 'Do NOT say it. You do not know the meaning of the word. You do not deserve to let it pass your lips. I have lived through war, do you understand? I have _waged_ war. I have watched dozens of people cut down – some through my own doing. Some awful; some good. I have _seen_ love. I have seen parents give their own lives for their children. And you… you could not manage to give your only son a peaceful night. That isn't _love_ , what you put us through.'

'I… I know that,' Tobias agreed hoarsely. 'But I was ill, Severus. It's a sickness… I couldn't help it. I _wanted_ to –'

'Of course you could have helped it,' Severus scoffed in disgust. 'Do not lie. You never even tried. The drinking… perhaps you were predisposed to become the lazy, spirit-sodden layabout you have been since I can remember – I do not know. But neither drink nor any 'sickness' you might claim excuses what you did to Mother… nor what you did to me. And I will not forgive you for it, whether you live another hour or a hundred years.'

'It doesn't,' Tobias affirmed, shaking his head. 'You are right, my boy. It excuses nothing. I deserve this slow, tortured end. I have earned it a thousand times over. But… even if you can't accept it, I need to apologise. I couldn't go knowing I had never…' He trailed off for another, tormented breath. 'I needed you to know,' he finished, softer still.

Severus glared for a moment. Then he gave one, stiff nod of the head. 'Good day,' he said, stepping away from the bed – but Tobias called after him.

'Wait!' he cried, sitting up a fraction and sending himself into a fit of coughing at the moment. Severus turned, raising a supercilious eyebrow as he waited impatiently for the fit to subside.

'Other things,' Tobias gasped out, fumbling above his shoulder for an oxygen mask.

Some of the numbers on the monitor were beginning to deepen into orange as they flashed. Severus sighed in irritation, and pointed his wand at the mask so that it slipped into his father's hands. He might as well save the young nurse the journey.

'What things?' Severus asked dully.

His father took a moment before he answered, sucking at the purified air.

'The house,' he said at last – voice a bit stronger for the fortification. 'I've left it to you; and everything in it.'

'I don't want that house,' Severus spat. 'Give it to someone else. Burn it, for all I care.'

'Feel free to dispose of it as you will, but I doubt there will be opportunity to amend my testament now,' his father said tiredly, with a raised eyebrow of his own.

Severus was momentarily startled by the familiarity of the arch. He had thought – like nearly everything else – he'd gleaned this talent from his mother.

'There're a few things in it you might want to salvage before you light the match,' Tobias went on. 'Most's not worth a quid of course, but I bought a piano off old Mrs Stewart when she moved in with her daughter last autumn. You always did like to play…. And your mother's things are there too – most up in boxes in the back bedroom. I never could part with them.'

Severus, rather surprised again by the sentiment, merely nodded curtly in acknowledgment.

'And… there's a bit set aside for the funeral,' Tobias said, looking uncomfortable. 'It's not much, but it should cover something basic. I know I don't have the right to ask it of you… but don't leave me in the mortuary, please.'

Severus nodded again. 'Fine,' he agreed.

He hesitated just a moment, looking down on this shell of a man… wondering what, exactly, he felt in this moment. A parting he'd always anticipated; a man he'd always hated.

He decided he felt nothing.

He pushed off the foot of the bed again, and swept for the door with one final inclination of his head. Tobias did not move to stop his leaving this time.

As he closed the door gently and stepped into the corridor, he found himself facing the young, sweet-faced nurse. Her expression was less generic, this time. On the contrary, her gaze seemed to have sharpened.

'It was good of you to come,' she opined, watching him. 'Mr Snape has not had any visitors at all since his arrival.'

'No, I would expect not,' Severus said. He looked at the young woman pointedly – for she was blocking his path to the lifts. But she did not move.

'It's important to have people, at the end,' she said, her eyes boring into his. They were an unusual shade between blue and green… almost as if someone had blended Albus and Lily into the gaze. 'It helps ease the passage.'

'I suppose,' Severus said, with somewhat less grace. 'Excuse me…'

She shifted a bit, and he was able to push past at a quick stride.

'I told him you would come,' she called after him. 'I wasn't sure, of course. But I expected you'd do the honourable thing, in the end. It's only lucky I knew you'd be at the castle.'

Severus froze at the golden-lettered plaque, shoulders stiffening. He whirled to face her with a suspicious scowl.

He _hated_ meddlers.

He scrutinised her face. 'You gave him the owl,' he accused.

She smiled, slightly sad. 'I did.'

He appraised her more carefully. 'How?' he demanded. 'You do not have magical blood.'

'No,' the nurse agreed. 'But half my family does. My sister was Head Girl at Hogwarts. She always spoke highly of you.'

'A Farley,' Severus realised, nodding slightly as the high cheekbones and dimples registered at last. 'That is why you look familiar.'

The young woman held up her left hand, wriggling the fingers. 'A Christensen, actually,' she corrected. 'I was married in March. But yes – Gemma's my younger sister. I'm Josephine, though I'm usually called Josie.'

She stuck out her right hand, and Severus retreated to shake it, still slightly irritated. 'Gemma was not quite so interfering,' he noted silkily. Though even as he said it, he knew it was untrue.

Josie's eyes seemed to dance in a way that suggested she too held his assertion suspect. But she did not correct him. After a moment, however, her smile faded.

'I do not know what happened between you and your father,' she said, adjusting her cap somewhat self-consciously. 'And I would not presume to pry. But I will tell you that I have worked in this ward for nearly three years now. It has taught me two things. I would share them with you, if you don't think it would be impertinent?'

Severus crossed his arms, his eyes flashing in the manner that sent many first years to whimper beneath their beds. 'Undoubtedly, I shall consider it immeasurably so,' he said dryly. 'But I fear I am fated to hear them regardless.'

She gave him a cheeky half-smile – precisely as her sister would have done. And, just as Gemma would have, she spoke despite the veiled threat.

'Old or young, rich or poor, good or evil, Magical or perfectly ordinary… Death comes for us all, sooner or later,' Josie said honestly. 'And in our final moments, all of us want only one thing: a glimpse of comfort and compassion; the face of someone we love.'

She smiled sadly at him once again, and strode off down the ward.

Severus was not entirely sure why he returned.

Tobias Snape was lying so still and waxen in the bed this time, he might have thought him already dead but for the rattle of his chest. His eyes barely cracked as the door clicked shut, but he pushed himself half-upright again when he recognised his son's reappearance.

'What –'

'I cannot cure you,' Severus said again, his own face masklike. 'But I can… stop this, if you wish.'

His father's brow furrowed. 'What do you mean, stop it?' he questioned. 'You have a… er, potion, stronger than morphine?'

'No,' Severus said. He took a few steps closer to the bed, withdrawing the phial from an inside pocket that he'd managed to procure from a House-elf in one of the empty neighbouring rooms. He held the opalescent potion up so his father could see.

'This is Draught of Peace,' he explained, tapping the stopper. 'It is a highly potent variant of Calming Draught, used to quiet anxiety and panic attacks in Wizarding folk. It is not normally recommended for Muggle consumption except in the smallest of doses, and only then under extreme circumstances.'

Tobias continued to frown. 'I don't understand.'

Severus waved his left hand over his right, sending the stopper to ping off the wall. 'This phial contains at least twenty times the advisable Muggle dosage,' he said. 'Draining it will cause you to enter a deep and irreversible sleep. Within a minute, your vital organs will begin to shut down. You will not awaken.'

'You're saying… this potion will kill me?' his father clarified.

Severus met his gaze without flinch. 'Yes.'

'Will it hurt?' Tobias asked, frowning at the phial.

Severus shrugged. 'I am not Muggle,' he pointed out. 'Nor have I watched a Muggle perish in such a manner before. I could not say.'

A soft voice – the one that so often spoke in Albus' tenor – seemed to echo in his mind. _Mercy_ …

He sighed. 'But I doubt it,' Severus said at last. 'Its agents have calming properties. You should be aware of nothing beyond drifting into sleep.'

Tobias took the phial in a mottled hand. His grip shook slightly. He seemed to examine it closely, then his eyes raised to Severus.

'Why?' he asked in a hoarse whisper.

'I do not know,' Severus admitted, still stone-faced. 'Perhaps I have seen enough agonised death in my lifetime to wish to spare even you such indignity. Perhaps I just want to watch you go myself. Do you want it, or not?'

'Yes,' Tobias said, without hesitation. He lifted the phial close to his lips but stopped, looking to Severus once again. 'You are a good boy, Severus,' he said with half a smile. 'You always were… just like your mother. Do not end up like me.'

He tipped the contents back before Severus could contemplate a reply. The effect was near to instantaneous. As his father's eyes closed, Severus set a silencing charm over the monitors, keeping the end from the Muggle doctors. Their red lights began flashing, lines went mad, alerts appeared and parchment shot from some contraption on the side table; but nothing made a sound.

Tobias took one last, agonised breath… and his chest feel still at last.

Severus remained another few minutes, staring down at this man he hated – the jailor he was finally rid of, and yet knew he could never dispel. There was little of Severus' own face in his features, save perhaps the eyebrows. Even the sallow skin was but an illusion brought on by disease. Severus could not summon the energy for joy at his father's passing. Nor was he remotely sad. He did not feel peace or closure, as the headmaster had suggested. He just felt… empty. Hollow.

Nothing.

He did not bother to leave the Muggle route. He no longer had anything tethering him to their world, after all.

So he spun on the spot, and Disapparated home.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Seven**

 **BlueWater5** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the final scene between Albus and Severus… we'll see how that plays out in the next chapter. Happy reading!

 **Belia1666 (Chapter Five)** : Thanks for reviewing. The Horcrux spell is in Latin because almost all spells taught in British magic have a Latin phrase. I'm sure there was originally a phrase in ancient Greek when Herpo the Foul created the first Horcrux (I am aware of the origin story as well). As I stated on my profile – for consistency within my stories and with canon, I will be using only Latin derivatives for spells that are either new or ungiven in canon. It is the intent that drives this darkest magic, so practically speaking I doubt the translation of the phrase would make much difference. I'm sure Voldemort _would_ be a terrible ruler wherever he ruled; and I have never claimed he was superior in raw power to all wizards ever (I do not believe he is/was) – but alas, he did not invent the magic either. And I am sure _he_ believes both to be true.

Enjoy chapter eight!

 **Anna** : Thanks for your review! Alas, I am not sure it is in Severus' nature to acknowledge what a hypocrite he can be – even if he does recognise it. He punishes and is self-punishing. Abuse is a difficult word, however… certainly _I_ think how Snape treats Harry (here, and in canon) can be both cruel and vindictive, but it is not often the pointless abuse or the physical abuse that he suffered himself as a child. In Snape's mind, while nobody would argue he is definitely tormenting Harry, he is also training him. I definitely think his motives are mixed: jealousy, fear, vindictiveness, instruction… but, hopefully, he _will_ one day come to realise what he is doing. I hope you'll like how this plays out in his character arc. Enjoy Chapter Eight!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you liked the chapter. Yes, Harry's definitely starting to understand the tenets of more advanced Occlumency. Helping him discover his ideal 'barrier' will be a big arc for the summer months. We'll see the fallout of Snape's missive from his father in this next chapter. I think it's a very complicated situation, but I agree with you – I would have similar feelings about it. Enjoy Chapter Eight!

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for the review! You hit on so many great points. First off, I'm glad you enjoyed the Minerva scene at the beginning of the chapter. You're right – she definitely grew up in a world where Albus Dumbledore was at the height of his fame, and certainly we see that it had an effect on her. It is a bit like Ginny, I suppose… although I think where Ginny's feelings for Harry were certainly romantic early on, Minerva's were more along the lines of idolisation and reverence until much later in their acquaintance. Absolutely true that 'Fear' is very much a player in its own right here – and one which all Gryffindors abhor. Haha, I like that you translated the Gaelic. Perhaps I should have included that for non-UK readers.

Oooh Karkaroff. I _can't_ spoil it (naturally) – but I like the way you're thinking. Personally, although I think Dumbledore would probably make such an argument… I am on Sirius' side here. And, of course, I've set Karkaroff up to be a bit worse in COH than he is necessarily in canon. Sirius is not done with this argument, or with Igor.

Your points on Wizard-Muggle relations are very interesting. Personally, I agree with most of what you've said… although at the same time I think a policy like the one described in Chapter Seven would probably be necessary. I despise taking free will away (and tried to make Minerva express this as well), but the idea that a magical child without guidance in the Muggle world could face oppression by Muggles for their talents; could never become their true self; or – most ominously – could even become an Obscurial is, I think, a real fear and concern for the Ministry and for Hogwarts. One could argue that the parents being unwilling to accept their magical child's Magic because they don't understand or agree with the Magical world is also problematic. I don't know that there is a great middle ground on this one… but it is difficult to balance the interests. I suppose it need not be at Hogwarts, this is true. But the British Magical government can hardly force another school to admit them, and Muggles can't educate them at home. If a Muggle parent were able to apply for and secure their child's admission at another Wizarding school, however, I would like to think that would be just as acceptable.

Fire. It is, really, the element that _had_ to be Harry's connection – for all of the reasons you stated (and more). Of course, as Dumbledore hints this isn't really Harry's _perfect_ barrier… but it's the best fit so far. I can't believe you've gone down the Patronus line – because it is precisely the right way to be thinking about this. I don't want to give too much away, but definitely Harry's journey to discovering his perfect mental shield will involve harkening back to his work on the Patronus. We'll see how that develops soon.

Oh, Harry and Snape. Both have points, both have flaws. They do have some similarities… although I think there are even more between Severus and Sirius – and that will resurface. Snape has a big arc in this next chapter, so I hope you'll like where this goes next.

Enjoy Chapter Eight!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thanks for your review! Glad you liked the chapter and found it a good transition forward :).

Minerva gets her first POV of Part III. I'm happy you enjoyed it – I've missed her this book. She is actually one of the more difficult characters for me to write as a POV narrator… even though I love her; largely because while she's definitely a key character in canon she is also mainly involved as Head of House and as Dumbledore's right-hand woman, so developing more of her character has been a project. You are right on her relationship with Albus – I definitely wanted to convey that their relationship is so deep – so strong – because it is based in half a century's very close friendship. I often feel that the level of intimacy between two friends can be even more staggering than between two lovers – and where the two meet, it is even more astounding.

As to Albus' family history and whether he ever found a way to help people like Ariana… you'll definitely find out later in COH.

Shell Cottage. Modelled, actually, on a place James and I stayed during our honeymoon. The house we stayed in was in France, but it was the most gorgeous little place… and my first thought when we entered it was that it was precisely how I'd always envisioned Shell Cottage would look. I like to think that it is where we were gifted with our girls. The warding ritual, in any case, was extravagant partly just because I rather felt like it… and partly because I wanted to give an introduction to Ancient Runes and warding that was a bit more than we have seen in COH thus far. Ancient Runes will resurface in Harry's lessons with Dumbledore this summer, so this was a sort of first-flavour for readers.

The fight with Albus. It's so funny, because I have had some readers who agree with you, and others who absolutely believe Sirius was in the right and Albus the wrong (Lizzie, my friend/Beta, fell into the latter camp). I think they both have true and fair points… but yes, controlling his temper is definitely not one of Sirius' strongest suits. This conflict is only just beginning. Sirius' memories: Yes, I think there would be a lot that Harry would cherish… and probably several that Minerva would wish to ban.

Occlumency is such an interesting field. I freely admit I attempted to 'practise' myself before writing this from Harry's perspective. Alas, I am no witch… but I found it difficult all the same. I'm glad you are liking the lessons – they will play a big role in the summer plot. How Harry comes to master it, in particular, will be important.

Okay, Severus and Tobias Snape. 'Close the chapter' is definitely an accurate phrase. I'm very excited to share this little development, because it's something I have been holding for a while now. We'll see how that unfolds in Chapter Eight, and I hope you'll like it.

Good luck will all the planning and plotting between now and August! Such an exciting time!

Enjoy Chapter Eight!

 **Undeniably Uzumaki** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the chapter. Lots of great questions and discussion points here, so I'm going to dive right in…

Magic is not _never_ good nor evil – there are very, very rare spells that are only one or the other. The Cruciatus, for example; or the Patronus on the other end of the spectrum. But yes, it is definitely my position that Magic is nearly always dependent on intent. I don't think this undermines the balance idea, however, as they are speaking about slightly different things. Rather, it harkens back to Albus' discussion in Part II about Merlin's theory and the balance of the elements in this world. Of course, this is Minerva's mother's point of view in Chapter Seven's quotation and not necessarily the 'truth' – but I think she is relying on the same principles. It's not really a discussion of good and evil casting, but more the big-picture concepts of 'Goodness' and 'Evil' – and her view is that the universe rarely creates a darkness without a light to counter it. We'll have further discussion on this (that will probably be less convoluted and more thorough than my explanation here) later in the story. But in short, I find the properties of intentional magic _and_ the idea of Magic as a larger force in this world on the abstract level highly fascinating, and I hope I can explain them in the story in a way that will make sense. On a related topic, I don't think Magic is ever neutral… there's always some intent behind it, meaning that the spell can only exist at the midpoint in theory, but never in practise.

We'll be getting further explanation of magic 'conductors' later in the story – when Harry and Albus begin training in Ancient Runes. Chapter Seven's was meant to be a brief introduction, but you'll definitely see soon what my vision is for that. As to the Muggle-born policy… I think your points are well-taken and true, although I also think there is necessary counter-consideration about whether the child's parents are not also acting immorally, refusing to allow their child to be who they are. Sealing the magic to stop them reaching their Cores? That would be akin, I think, to forced castration. Magic is as much a part of a wizarding child as their brains or eyes or heart… and it cannot be suppressed or denied. I do not say this in defence of the policy… indeed, I truly believe both arguments have merit. I have already discussed this quite thoroughly in a review response above so I won't repeat all of it here, but I think it is a very interesting and controversial area (and quite deliberately so, as so much in politics tends to be fodder for debate).

Occlumency… I think maybe you are misinterpreting some of it, or perhaps Albus hasn't made it all that clear just yet. It definitely is not limited to three areas, but Harry is also just starting these lessons and it wouldn't be rational (or productive, really) to dump the entire subject on him at once. I think when Harry questions how Occlumens walk round just shielding all the time, Dumbledore is trying to explain that that isn't truly the case – at least not actively so. But certainly true Occlumens have trained their minds such that they are maintaining a 'shield' out of 'muscle memory' – without actively needing to do so… and raise or strengthen the shields (like Albus did with Gellert, or Snape does with Voldemort) when necessary. It is, of course, the only way to have a thoroughly 'protected' mind; so I suppose in that sense yes, true Occlumens are 'constantly' shielding. This is step one (like year one or two in Potions, e.g.). It is by no means the limits of Occluding. I'm going to message you on the memory question rather than get into that here.

Snape's lessons. Well… two things, I suppose. One, I deliberately did not show what Harry did or did not tell Dumbledore about Snape's lessons, beyond that he was in a temper. I think Severus assumes Harry snitched about everything… but in my view, he didn't. Harry isn't eleven anymore, after all – and while Dumbledore was likely able to guess at some of what occurred, I doubt he knows the details. And to be fair, Harry's head wasn't _really_ in danger… Snape did move the desk so he wouldn't hit it. But still – not a great or safe way to instruct.

Hope you like Chapter Eight!

 **Guest Reviewer** : Thanks for reviewing! Hmm… I'm not sure how to respond to some of your comments. Or, rather, I am not sure you'll be happy with all of my response. I'll give it a try all the same!

First off, I recognise that MM/AD – like all pairings in HP both in canon and in fanfiction – is a polarising proposal. I personally like them together, but I realise a lot of people don't. As this was worked into the premise of COH, it's definitely going to continue in this series. That said, imagining them in any overly 'intimate' position is not something I enjoy… it is rather like walking in on one's grandparents. So I can safely promise we will not be seeing any of _that_ during the course of this series. The closest we come occurs at the end of the next chapter, and is fairy innocent. To that point, I do not think you'll get your wish on Harry… for which I apologise, but I had mapped this out a while back and feel it has to occur here for a few reasons.

I am faithful to JKR's revelations – on Pottermore and elsewhere – which is to say that the ages of our characters and all accompanying dates comports with what she has laid out. Minerva's year of birth has been stated in COH as 1935… but the calculation for this was based on OOTP and Pottermore's subsequent information. From her conversation with Umbridge, it can be established that she began at the school in December 1956; she previoiusly spent two years with the Ministry (from graduation on). This means she must have left Hogwarts as a student in 1954 – thereby beginning in autumn 1947. She has an October birthday, which means she would have begun school at nearly 12… and thus must have been born in October 1935. Minerva and Albus' relationship was never romantic until much later (precise date tba eventually), but they had been very close friends for many years before – which is why Sirius speaks so in flashback and when he first arrives at the school. Remus, of course, had been in contact with Dumbledore even while he was abroad… and I do assume he informed Sirius at some point once they were reunited. Their relationship is not a 'secret' so much as it is not overtly advertised. And if Harry _did_ open his eyes – which he has been doing and will be doing far more throughout this book as he grows quickly out of childhood – he would be aware as well. He's certainly observant enough; but then, like many boys his age, he is also woefully obtuse in certain areas.

In any case, I hope you enjoy Chapter Eight!

 **Wendy H** : Thanks for your review! Very happy to hear you are enjoying the series so much. I hope you'll like Chapter Eight!

 **Guest (Second Guest Review)** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed Bathilda – we'll definitely be seeing her again – she has quite a bit left to do in our story, past and present. As for seeing more of Hogwarts and some of the other professors – we'll definitely be getting some of that, particularly as Harry grows and matures in these later books. Some of this is limited by the fact that the professors with families are not often in the castle over summer hols, but we'll see more than we have in future. The Cornish Shell Cottage and Bill & Fleur's Shell Cottage are indeed one and the same. We'll learn – though not for quite a bit – how this property came to pass into Bill's hands.

Mmm… the Runic magic scene. We have already seen runic wards carved into stone (in flashback form) and we had the little intro to Runes with the holster in Part II, but this is a bit more complex than that and yes – definitely dramatic. Albus gives a highly characteristic humorous response here… but, as is so often the case with him, things are not nearly so straightforward. As Harry will be studying Ancient Runes this summer I shan't elaborate here on the Poseidon and the Nymphs scene, but I hope you will enjoy the lessons. As for the extensive warding at Shell Cottage… you are right to think it odd for a peacetime build. Let us say for the moment that Albus did not intend it would always be a peacetime retreat.

Albus is certainly not without fault – as even he freely admits. I do not think it realistic to write characters beyond reproach… nor do I think Albus thinks _himself_ above mistake or misjudgement. You should be questioning his argument with Sirius here – and it isn't the last we'll hear of it. As for Minerva… Harry does not, perhaps, spend as much one-on-one time with her as with Albus, but he still spends a great deal of his time with her. The quarters query you raise is interesting. I suppose I take my view on this from the books and from my own experience with British manor homes and castles. I know a lot of fanfic authors (usually portraying Snape's quarters) discuss a sort of flat – equipped with a kitchen or kitchenette and a dining room. I've always found that rather unrealistic, though I suppose given that this is a magical school anything is possible. In general, however, most 'quarters' or closed wings would consist of bedchamber(s), perhaps a parlour (or study, given that these are teachers' quarters), a loo. Meals (informal or light) might be taken in the sitting area/parlour, but not as a general rule. The dining room (or Great Hall) serves that purpose.

I love your theorising about the elements and their connections to both Occlumency and the various characters. I _really_ would like to answer the questions you pose here – but I fear doing so might spoil too much. I promise they will all have resolution as we continue the Occlumency storyline.

Snape… ah, I myself both love and hate him, at various times… though writing him has given me a measure of sympathy for him. He shares some similarity with Harry, yes – but you are right: they are (as Snape himself says in a chapter I recently wrote that I doubt shall premiere for many months) 'not similar men.' His father's illness will be explored in Chapter Eight.

So, with that – I hope you enjoy the next instalment!


	9. The Pendant and the Locket

**A/N:** It has been so long! I apologise – the summer (in real time) seems to be flying by… Is it truly August already?! I hope you are all well and enjoying the sunshine.

So this chapter got quite, quite long. In editing, I have decided to break it in two. Therefore, you should hopefully be seeing Chapter 10 in just a few days' time. I hope this makes up for the delay between Chapters 8 and 9.

With that, here is 'The Pendant and the Locket'.

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER NINE

 **The Pendant and the Locket**

 _It was a beautiful evening – the skies clear and the stars twinkling in an endless expanse of indigo. He rested on his back and stared up at the heavens, so unusually pristine tonight: the full moon unobstructed by cloud; the house behind as dark and still as the night around him, without even a breeze to rustle the freshly fallen leaves. He loved the back garden of the Godric's Hollow cottage. It was the perfect place to enjoy a peaceful autumn's night; however few and far between such nights had become._

 _Until it wasn't._

 _A crack – so distant he might not have noticed but for the lack of ambient sound… the creak of the gate at the out-of-sight lane…_

 _He sprung to his feet in an instant, his wand in his hand._ Of course _it would happen tonight, while he was here on his own… the first peace he'd enjoyed in a fortnight…_

 _A figure crept around the corner, shrouded in a high, hooded black cloak. He raised his wand, ready to strike –_

 _And the figure lowered its hood._

 _'Sirius.'_

 _His wand hand twitched, but he left it trained on the intruder – his heart hardly lessening its thunder in his chest._

 _'Sirius –'_

 _'Not another step,' Sirius warned in a voice like ice._

 _The figure halted its advance._

 _Sirius stalked forward instead – left arm still outstretched. The visitor tracked his approach warily._

 _'Come to deliver a message from your master, have you?' Sirius demanded. 'Or perhaps a gift? Foolish of him to trust in sentiment… I would have no qualms, I assure you, in doing the deed…'_

 _'I do not come for him,' the man insisted._

 _'On your own then?' Sirius whispered, taking another two steps forward. A small burst of red sparks glinted off the edge of his wand; reflected in wide, fearful grey eyes. 'More foolish yet. I have always been faster with a curse…'_

 _Hands raised, palms up. Though his voice was nervous, the man's hands did not quake. 'No, I… I came to see you,' he pleaded. 'He does not know I am here.'_

 _Sirius gave a mirthless laugh. 'What business could you have with me? You – a Death Eater…'_

 _The man winced. 'I am your brother,' he said quietly._

 _'I was disowned,' Sirius spat. 'I have no brother.'_

 _'You left_ us _, Sirius,' the other reminded him. 'I never –'_

 _'You gave your allegiance to the wrong side,' Sirius contended hotly. 'And the Potters were more kin to me than anyone in that wretched house we shared in childhood.'_

 _Regulus swallowed hard. 'Whatever differences may have altered our –'_

 _'Differences?' Sirius repeated scornfully._ 'Differences _?! We are night and day, you and I. I live for more than myself, Regulus. I have principles, and courage, and honour. And you…. You are a power-grasping fool of a snake, just like our dear parents always hoped.'_

 _'Sirius, that isn't fa-'_

 _'Oh, I think it is,' Sirius disagreed, his lip curling. 'I was there, last week, in Birmingham. There was the stench of new recruits all over the place. I dare say I must have missed you by moments. Had a bit of fun, didn't you lot? Slaughtering Muggles for sport.'_

 _Even in the ghostly light of the moon, Regulus' face paled. Sirius gave a mirthless smirk of satisfaction._

 _'Pathetic,' he sneered._

 _'I'm not!' Regulus disagreed, his own voice angry for the first time. 'You always think you're so grand, don't you? High and mighty on your lovely white horse with your righteousness and your_ Light _magic,' he spat. 'You've killed too you know – all of you. Even your precious Dumbledore…'_

 _'Not when it can be helped!' Sirius countered in a bellow. 'We do not take the lives of innocents, Regulus._ We _did not start this war…'_

 _'It isn't black and white!' Regulus snapped back. 'You always want to believe it's good versus evil and it's NOT, Sirius. It never has been. You just can't understand –'_

 _'I understand perfectly!' Sirius retorted. 'It_ is _black and white, you fool. It_ is _good and evil. You cannot mean to tell me there is a reason for massacre of the helpless? That there is a point to this ruthlessness, beyond your Master's own ambition?'_

 _His brother chewed his lip for half a heartbeat – and Sirius pressed the advantage._

 _'Does it make you happy, your new life? Does it satisfy your ambitions, little_ brother? _Are you_ glad _– to have traded your soul for a part of it?'_

 _His brother's face whitened further. 'I… You don't understand,' he said again, his voice a little higher – a little faster. 'That's just it… I – I've always believed in this… always believed it was about a greater good. But… but He – he asked a favour, the Dark Lord. And I think –'_

 _'Voldemort,' Sirius corrected in a boom. Regulus' hand jumped impulsively to his left arm, and Sirius felt bile and hatred rise higher._

 _'You cannot believe he intends to share power, Regulus… there is only_ one _who matters to him. And you do not qualify. He would see you dead with as little care for your passing as myself.'_

 _'Yes,' Regulus agreed softly. 'Yes… that is probably true.'_

 _The storm of anger subsided in Sirius by the smallest of degrees._

 _'So leave him,' he encouraged – not precisely kindly, but with somewhat less cold derision. 'Join the right side of this fight, Regulus. Save yourself, before it is too late. Before even more unspeakable things can occur.'_

 _'Unspeakable things are already occurring, Sirius,' Regulus disagreed. His grey eyes met his brother's – and they looked older; harder than Sirius remembered. 'More than you can understand. There is no backing out. Not now.'_

 _'Reg…'_

 _He took another step forward, but there was no threat in the movement this time._

 _'Reg, there's always time to turn back,' he told him. 'Always. Dumbledore forgives. He can protect you. Together – we will defeat him. We_ will _win.'_

 _'No,' Regulus disagreed. His face was suddenly crumpled; pained. He took a step backward, and Sirius could see the glint of a golden mask in his pocket. 'No… you won't. You cannot.'_

 _'It's been a bad few weeks,' Sirius agreed, the hint of a plea creeping in. He took another step. 'But we have Dumbledore, Reg. Trust me. Vol – You-Know-Who,' he corrected in peace-offering, 'Will not survive this fight.'_

 _'Yes,' Regulus disagreed. He pulled up his cloak again. 'Yes… he will, Sirius. He cannot be killed.'_

 _'Reg –'_

 _'I must go,' his brother said, backing away more hurriedly still. 'I have already been too long.'_

 _'Reg, please –'_

 _He reached out, but his brother was gone from reach. He shouted instead. 'Have courage, Reg! Do the right thing, for once in your miserable life.'_

 _Regulus turned at the corner of the house, pausing for just a moment. Sirius could not discern his face beneath the dark hood._

 _'You have always been my brother, Sirius,' he said. His voice was almost a whisper, but it carried in the windless night all the same. 'Stay safe.'_

 _The hem of the cloak whipped around the corner, and his brother was gone._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'I had a dream last night.'

Remus twitched down the top of _The Daily Prophet_ , fixing him with a curious look. 'Oh?'

'Yeah,' Sirius confirmed. He flicked his wand at the kettle, pouring himself a steaming cup of tea. 'Not really a dream, even… a memory.'

Remus pushed a platter of sausages closer to his place. He was still staring. 'About Azkaban?' he asked quietly.

'No,' said Sirius. 'No… it wasn't anything like that.'

'Bout someone I know?' Remus asked, flicking the newspaper upright again so that his face was hidden from view behind the Gladrags advertisement. Sirius watched the model witch twirling about in her new robes for a moment.

'No…' he said slowly. 'No one you knew. I didn't either, I reckon. Not really.'

Remus glanced up from the _Prophet_ again. His brow contracted a bit as he studied Sirius' face. 'Do you want to talk about it?'

'No.'

'Well then, why bring it up at all?' Remus asked, still watching him.

Sirius broke the gaze, taking a large sip from his tea. He had not bothered to cool it, and the brew burned his throat as he swallowed and made his eyes swim. He winced as he set the cup down, staring out the window above the basin, where the day outside was dreary and wet.

'I don't know.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'You sent for me, Headmaster,' Severus announced, as the man himself appeared at the bottom of the spiral staircase. 'What is it?'

Albus clutched a hand to his chest, obviously startled. Severus smirked slightly.

'Good gracious, Severus!' Albus exclaimed. 'You might have a care for an old man's heart.'

Severus snorted. He waited for the headmaster to descend the last few steps and join him in the sitting room, knowing that Albus would have heard the query regardless.

The headmaster took his favourite armchair, throwing the travelling cloak he carried over the winged back and sighing as he sat. Severus remained standing, stiff at the fireside. Albus considered him shrewdly.

'I must request assistance,' he said after a moment. 'I have an errand to see to this evening. Minerva only just returned from a round of calls, and she is rather exhausted. I had hoped you would agree to remain here for a few hours… just in case something were to go amiss.'

Severus grimaced. 'Fine,' he agreed brusquely. 'The brat is asleep, I trust?'

Albus' eyes twinkled slightly. 'Yes,' he confirmed. 'We have been weaning down the Dreamless Sleep… but even so, I doubt he will have trouble in the night. You know where the stores are, of course; and I shall not be far, if I am needed.'

'He is not a toddler, Albus,' Severus mocked. But he remembered the last scene in Potter's bedroom… and schooled his expression somewhat. 'But I shall send for you, should something arise.'

Albus nodded his thanks. He removed his glasses, wiping at a smudge with a corner of his robes. Severus watched the movement in puzzlement. It seemed odd… for such a Magical being to resort to such paltry, Muggle means. It angered him, somewhat. Since returning from killing his father, Severus had refused to so much as bend to lift a cauldron by hand, if he did not have to.

The spectacles returned to the crooked nose, and the eyes behind them were piercing; knowing. Severus broke their gaze, starting his usual path in the hearthrug.

'You went to see your father,' Albus said.

Whether he had guessed or Severus' shields had failed him, the Potions Master did not know. Either option was equally irritating.

'He is dead,' he said stiffly.

'I am sorry,' Albus said gently.

'I am not,' Severus spat.

There was a short silence, as Severus paced, and Albus watched.

'You were right to go,' the headmaster said. 'Perhaps you cannot see it, just yet. But you offered an act of mercy to one who did not deserve your kindness… and that is the purest of all gifts, Severus. You are a better man than he was.'

Severus gave an irritated huff, but did not reply. He did, however, decline the offer of a whisky. He was not ready, tonight.

'How is the Occlumency coming?' Severus redirected a few moments later, keen for a new topic of discussion.

'It is coming,' Albus answered, unhelpfully. 'There have been no further incidents since the scene with the snake, thank Merlin.'

'Hardly proof of Potter's aptitude,' Severus pointed out.

Albus shot him a quelling look. 'It is hardly proof against it,' he countered.

Severus, however, could see concern beneath the defence. He considered him carefully. 'Yet you do not think it is Potter's skill,' he guessed.

Albus sighed again. 'It is not that, precisely,' he disagreed. 'Harry has shown progress beyond what I had hoped… though I would not delude myself that he is anywhere near mastery as yet. It is an immensely difficult and personal art, as you know. I am not entirely sure he has yet discovered his milieu, though he is growing close. He is stronger than he was. I believe he will be ready to start training to repel more pointed attacks quite soon. Perhaps when we return from Tinworth.'

Severus' glower grew more pronounced. He could not help it. 'And will you be able to do it, Albus?'

The headmaster's gaze was patronising. 'I am a highly accomplished Legilimens, Severus,' he reminded him. 'As you well know.'

'That is not what I mean,' Severus said. He paused in his pacing. 'I am sure you _can_ perform the magic just as brutally as the Dark Lord, Dumbledore, if you wish to. But it is not so easy… to face someone you care for, and hurt them, on purpose.'

'I am aware, Severus,' Albus said, running a hand over his eyes beneath the half-moon spectacles. 'For it has been my lot for a lifetime.'

The quiet confession did not ease Severus' mind. 'Potter needs to _know_ , Albus. He needs to see Mind Magic at its worst. Or he will never –'

'I am quite aware what awaits Harry – what awaits us _all_ – should his defences fail,' Albus assured him, a bit of an edge to his tone now. 'No matter my personal feelings on the matter, I realise that Harry must learn.'

'You say that,' Severus pressed, 'Yet your actions speak otherwise. You have not told him of the Prophecy –'

' _Muffliato_ ,' Albus interrupted, shooting a hasty spell at the foot of the steps. He turned back with burning eyes.

'Do not speak so cavalier, Severus,' he warned. 'I have already explained my reasoning. Harry _will_ know everything. When he is ready in every sense. There is still time.'

'Not much,' Severus retorted. 'You said so yourself, not a week ago. The Dark Lord approaches… every day, his Mark strengthens. His followers grow more restless. The ghosts of Evil begin to rise… and still, you keep –'

'A delicate balance,' Albus finished for him. 'I weigh Harry's Occlumency against Tom Riddle's skills as a Legilimens. The importance of magical training against the need for holiday and cheer. The weight of the truth… against the innocence of childhood.'

'Potter has not been a child in years,' Severus pointed out. 'However his foolish actions may cloud that perception.'

Unbidden to his mind came his own recent thoughts; the expanse of nothingness where, in a world turned right, he should have felt grief for a father lost. He shut it away.

'Children,' he went on, ignoring the concern in the headmaster's expression, 'Cease to be so when they endure what Potter endured. Or, at least, they lose the innocence you seem to associate with youth. Whatever may come next… it cannot be recreated.'

Albus watched him for a moment in silence. Severus wanted to look away… but he knew to do so would only fuel suspicion.

'This is true,' Albus agreed at last. 'I know it well. But even if I did not have these considerable scruples, Severus, I would still not think Harry ready to know.'

'And why not?' Severus demanded.

'Because he is too young,' Albus insisted.

Severus snarled openly. 'You have just agreed –'

'Not in the literal sense,' Albus interrupted, holding up a hand. 'But when Harry learns the truth, I want him to be able to take the Prophecy and discard it. He is not yet mature enough – magically, physically _or_ emotionally, to be able to –'

' _Discard_ it!' Severus bellowed, dumbstruck. 'DISCARD it?! Albus, we have _all_ worked fifteen years so that Potter will _fulfil_ the terms of this bloody thing! What is it all worth, if in the end you cast it aside?'

Albus, to his disgust, was smiling slightly. 'You misunderstand,' he said. 'Prophecy is, Severus. Fate _is_ – whether we are aware of its intentions or not. Harry must know the Prophecy, eventually, because it is the driving force behind his enemy's actions. He deserves to hear it, because it is what led to his parents' deaths. He needs to understand it, because doing so will aide him immeasurably in learning to harness and use his own skill in the wars to come. But he cannot – and _should_ not – act to bring it about; no more so than he might avoid it.'

'But, Albus –'

'Prophecy is a fickle and inscrutable force, and to grant such soothsaying the additional power to control our lives is a fatal mistake,' the headmaster insisted. 'The Prophecy cannot be the reason Harry chooses to fight for Good against Evil… or it shall ensure he does not succeed. Until I am sure Harry is ready to understand this, I will not place the burden on him. It is Voldemort's gravest error. I shall not have it become Harry's.'

Severus was sure there was some machination of rational argument in this speech… but he could not find it. And it mattered not. Whatever the headmaster told himself, Severus was _sure_ that it came down to the same truth… the same obstacle that he _knew_ would hinder Potter's ability to master Occlumency at the headmaster's instruction.

'Your capacity to love the boy is a liability, Albus,' he said harshly. 'It blinds you. And it will be all our destruction.'

Albus pushed to his feet, gathering the travelling cloak off the back of the chair.

'On the contrary, Severus,' he disagreed. 'The capacity to love is not a weakness. It is, indeed, your own capacity for love that is your greatest strength. And it is _Harry's_ capacity for love, I hope, that will be all our salvation.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _'You know, we could just work at your home,' Gellert pointed out in a somewhat irritated tone as Albus tapped the latch to lock Bathilda's basement door. 'It would be easier than the odd hours we've had to put in thus far.'_

 _Albus shrugged. 'I just had to make sure everything was still in order,' he said, coming over to peer into the sluggishly bubbling cauldron. 'How is it coming on?'_

 _'Poorly,' Grindelwald griped. 'And it will suffer longer if we cannot add the spindlefish in sync every half hour.'_

 _Albus frowned, but did not comment, as he wandered over to the table of ingredients. They had had the argument three times this morning already. He knew completing the experiment in his own house would resolve the issues of sensitive timing… but he also knew such powerful magic could set Ariana off. Worse – Gellert might witness it._

 _'You know our parents are gone,' he said instead, peeling a spindlefish carefully while his companion stirred. 'I have charge of my brother and sister. I cannot leave them on their own.'_

 _'They are hardly infants,' Gellert complained. 'I dare say they might be left on their own for a few hours on a summer's morning.'_

 _'It is complicated,' Albus said carefully. 'Ariana is ill. I cannot ask Aberforth to handle the situation on his own.'_

 _'That does not seem to be how he sees it,' Gellert countered._

 _Albus knew what he was referring to, but it was but half the story. Gellert had overheard an argument between the two of them in the lane only that very morning: Aberforth's latest insistence that he and their sister could handle themselves without Albus. Yet for as often as Aberforth suggested they would do better if Albus left well enough alone, he complained of the hours the eldest brother had spent this past week at the neighbour's. It would be easier if Aberforth could decide which he hated more._

 _All Albus knew was that these hours spent bent over a shared cauldron were the only peace he had felt in weeks._

 _'Aberforth is fifteen,' he hedged instead. 'He does not know what he wants, and even less what is best for him. He is not of age.'_

 _'Neither am I,' Gellert noted, casually sending the phial of yew sap back to its shelf with a flick of his palm. 'Not in your country, at any rate.'_

 _Albus smiled indulgently. 'True,' he allowed. 'But you and my brother are entirely different men.'_

 _The cauldron before them sputtered. Inside, the liquid began to congeal, expanding as it did so, pushing rapidly toward the surface…_

 _Albus muttered a hasty and complex spell, and the impending explosion spared their faces. Even so, both he and Gellert were thrown violently from their feet. Albus caught the edge of their ingredient table before his temple could slam it, while Gellert shot an impressive wandless cushioning spell to save his knees from shattering._

 _'I… told you…' Gellert gasped out, climbing laboriously to his feet. 'The spindlefish –'_

 _'Everything alright down there?' a voice called from the top of the staircase. Albus realised too late that the contained eruption must have shaken the house._

 _'Fine,' Gellert called back – his tone utterly light and cheerful, as though he and Albus were merely engaged in a monumental game of Exploding Snap rather than narrowly escaping possible death. 'Just running a few experiments, Batty.'_

 _'Well, mind you mop up any spills,' she lectured without descending. 'I'll not have the Ministry on me about funny Muggle sewage again….'_

 _Her footsteps clicked away overhead, while Gellert frowned in confusion and Albus hid his chuckle. 'Long story,' he said, when the blonde boy fixed him with a curious stare._

 _'Never mind it now,' Gellert said impatiently. 'This is rubbish. We'll have to start again.'_

 _'I don't think we can,' Albus admitted, glancing over the table as he stood. 'We've not enough leeches. We'll have to owl out for a deliver.'_

 _'That will take days,' Gellert complained as he strode over to scour the table himself. 'I_ told _you…'_

 _'Well, we can work on some of the others,' Albus compromised. 'Let's have a look at –'_

 _'No, let's go to the shops,' Gellert countered before Albus could finish. 'Where's the nearest apothecary?'_

 _Albus frowned. 'Salisbury,' he said. 'But it is small – they might not have it in stock. Diagon Alley in London would be best.'_

 _'Fine,' Gellert agreed. He held out his arm expectantly._

 _Albus stared._

 _'You shall have to Apparate us both,' Gellert explained impatiently. 'I do not know it.'_

 _'I – we cannot go_ now _,' Albus protested. 'I will have to check with Aberforth to –'_

 _'Albus, you were there not an hour ago!' his companion hissed. 'We'll never get anywhere if we keep up these delays. It shan't take more than the morning.'_

 _For a few moments, he hesitated. Then he grasped the other boy's forearm. It was not the first time they had touched… but something was different in this. As he turned into the compressing darkness, Albus could feel the pull of Gellert's own Magical Core. Albus could always sense its strength, but in physical contact… Gellert virtually thrummed with power. To guide him was nearly as effortless as apparating alone._

 _Everything about this newfound friendship felt like this millisecond of journey through the expanse of Nonbeing._

 _Gellert did not abide stillness, or idleness. He was patient only where an immediate alternative could not be found. He was all life and determination and intellectual curiosity, with the rare gift of a mind to bring it all to fruition. Albus had never met his like at Hogwarts. He had not thought that others existed. That he had been forced to return to his personal prison to find the window to greatness; to dwell where he was least understood to discover new kinship, was just another cruel irony of his world._

 _They landed soundlessly._

 _'Excellent,' Gellert approved, straightening up as their grips released. He gazed about, considering the upturned bins and the grubby back door to the Leaky Cauldron._

 _'It is through here,' Albus explained. He stepped forward, withdrawing his wand and tapping out the correct pattern on the bricks. He led the way through the archway._

 _Gellert's eyes widened at the sight of the bustling street. Midmorning on a Saturday, many witches and wizards were about – darting between the shops in pairs and chatting under swinging signs. Albus had to duck as three teenagers on broomsticks flew overhead, tossing a Quaffle between them. He saw an advertisement for the new Quidditch supply shop emblazoned on their capes._

 _'It is larger than Berlin,' Gellert observed as he glanced around. 'Though rather smaller than Munich's.'_

 _'Quite,' Albus agreed, though he was not certain. 'The apothecary is just here, on the left.'_

 _He led them along the winding lane and through the tinkling door. The shop inside smelled strongly of mildew and dried herbs. As a young boy, the pungent air had turned Albus' stomach. Now, he could appreciate the power in the scent. Gellert began inspecting some of the barrels on display, while Albus approached the smiling shopkeeper. She recognised him, but her expression faded as he made his inquiry._

 _'No, I am sorry,' she apologised. 'We've not had leeches in all week – Ashwinder got into 'em on the last delivery.'_

 _Albus frowned. 'A pity,' he said. 'When are you expecting a resupply?'_

 _'Should be Tuesday next,' she answered. At Albus' look of disappointment, she tapped her chin. 'You might try Selwyn's new place, if you'll be needing 'em sooner,' she suggested._

 _Albus hesitated. 'There isn't anywhere else?'_

 _She shook her head. 'Not in London.'_

 _'What is your objection to Selwyn's?' Gellert asked, sidling up to the counter with a few other selections._

 _'Nothing, precisely,' Albus said in a low tone as the witch at the till began to count eye of newt. 'But it is not in the best section of town.'_

 _Gellert cocked a half-smile. 'I am sure we are up to the task,' he said sardonically._

 _So Albus waited for Gellert to gather his parcels, and they set off down the lane in the direction of Knockturn Alley._

 _It was not his first journey to the unsavoury street. He had been through a time or two in his later years at Hogwarts, when it was necessary to make a purchase that he was certain toed a questionable line. He had indulged Elphias on their stay a few weeks ago, when the latter had wanted to try some pub rumoured to serve a whisky that made one uncannily lucky for twelve hours – though Albus had pointed out, correctly, that the active ingredients in Felix Felicis were nullified by alcohol._

 _Coming here with Gellert was different. Everything always was._

 _'The second on the right, I think,' Albus said, recalling the shopkeeper's direction as he and Gellert approached the correct door._

 _Though Albus knew the apothecary could not have been open more than a fortnight, the building that housed it was old and shadowed. The door did not open to his touch. Gellert moved impatiently to tap it with his wand, but Albus held out a hand._

 _'No,' he said. 'It would not be wise to push in, here.'_

 _Instead, Albus reached up to pull an old-fashioned bell. There was a gruff greeting from someone out of sight, and a shuffling of footsteps approaching. Several moments later, a shrewd hazel eye appeared at a peephole._

 _'Name and purpose,' the eye demanded._

 _'We are here for ingredients,' Albus answered. 'Our identities are our business alone.'_

 _The eye studied him a moment. Albus could feel the pressure of Legilimency, but he had learned long ago to resist its strength._

 _The eye narrowed. There was a small grind as the peephole shut, and a long stretch of silence. Albus wondered whether they were to be turned away, then he heard the sounds of many chains being released beyond the door._

 _'Not exactly welcoming business, are they?' Gellert opined at Albus' ear as the two of them entered the apothecary._

 _The shop was as dimly lit as that in Diagon Alley, but without the strong, musky scent. Indeed, the air had the pristine quality that spoke of more of spellwork than true purity. Albus registered the lack of aroma with dark curiosity… wondering what it was, precisely, that the owner would rather not advertise for sale._

 _The shopkeeper himself – Selwyn, Albus assumed – was a short, burly man with an unkempt beard; shifty, watery eyes; and thick, extremely hairy forearms that were prominently displayed between the pushed-up sleeves of his robes and the heavily stained dragonhide gloves he wore four sizes too small._

 _'What is it you need?' the shopkeeper barked._

 _'Leeches,' Gellert answered, in just a brusque a tone._

 _'Got four varieties,' Selwyn said. 'Can't be more specific, I presume?'_

 _'We would prefer to look at each, if you don't mind,' Albus answered politely._

 _The man shuffled off toward a back corner of the front room, and Albus and Gellert made to follow. Halfway to the indicated barrels, however, Albus was distracted._

 _Soft morning sunlight beamed through a high window, catching on a display upon a shelf. Albus was not sure quite why, but he was drawn to the silvery phials. There was nothing particularly flashy about these specimens – no more so than anything else in the darkened apothecary. But for the way the sun's beam caught in their sparkling contents, he might not have noticed them at all. Now – they were all he could see._

 _He crept closer, as though the phials sang._

 _'Leeches,' Gellert reminded him, appearing at Albus' elbow just as he lifted one of the phials from the shelf._

 _'Yes,' Albus agreed. He glanced around Gellert to check that the shopkeeper was occupied. 'In a moment.'_

 _'Albus…'_

 _'Do you know what these are?' Albus asked, lifting the silvery phial._

 _Gellert scrutinised it with a furrowed brow._

 _'Phoenix tears,' Albus explained._

 _'Ah, yes,' Gellert agreed, nodding. 'Excellent curative, and a rare find… but not why we are here, Albus.'_

 _'I have not seen a sample of these since France,' Albus continued, turning the phial round in his hand. 'We did not keep them at Hogwarts. And, of course, to procure them from a phoenix is nigh to impossible.'_

 _'We specialise in the impossible here,' the proprietor put in, clearly having caught the last of their conversation. 'Those have been imported from a gentleman in Japan. They'll cost you, of course – but they're the highest quality on the market.'_

 _'Can there_ be _low-quality phoenix tears?' Gellert asked sarcastically._

 _The proprietor scowled, but Albus paid no mind._

 _'I'll have them,' he decided, clenching the phial in his fist. Both the proprietor and Gellert turned – the former with a greedy gleam, the latter looking gobsmacked._

 _'Don't be absurd,' Gellert hissed. 'That will put you out nearly what you made off the journal article last week in one purchase!'_

 _'I'll have them,' Albus repeated with a warning glare._

 _The burly shopkeeper was delighted, and proved far more gracious in his assistance selecting a suitable species of leech for their efforts in the glow of his prospective windfall. He even condescended to wrap their purchases himself – in thick brown paper he promised was both weather and curse-proof. By the time he wished them a good day and saw them out of the shop, he was positively cheerful._

 _'Phoenix tears,' Gellert tsked again, shaking his head as they stepped into the street._

 _Albus squinted slightly – the brightness of the outdoors struck a stark contrast with the dimly lit apothecary they had just left._

 _'They could be useful,' he replied. 'To have on hand, generally… and in my work.'_

 _'In_ our _work,' Gellert corrected._

 _'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'In this, and perhaps in future projects.'_

 _Gellert gave a noncommittal noise in his throat. Albus could tell he still thought the purchase an unnecessary expense, but he saw no need to further justify his decision. It was his gold, after all. It was his work. And Albus had felt the pull toward the tears… as surely as he'd ever felt a magical impulse. He knew – without a precise notion why – that he was meant to have them._

 _'Ready to head back, then?' he asked as they reached the corner where Diagon and Knockturn Alleys met. 'You will not need my guidance this time, I dare say. Although –'_

 _'Not just yet,' Gellert cut in, holding up a hand._

 _He was eying a shop across the cobbled street: one of the larger and fancier of the lot. Albus could tell by the displays in the front windows that the shop sold magical artefacts and antiques – valuable ones, by the look of it. He knew the name, though he had never ventured inside. Gellert, on the other hand, was considering the painted sign as though he had been bidden to memorise it._

Borgin and Burke's

 _He started toward it._

 _'Gellert!' Albus hissed, trotting to catch him up. 'I told you I would need to get back. Already, we have been too –'_

 _'I shan't be but a moment,' Gellert insisted._

 _Before Albus could protest further, the tinkling charms of the door's bell sounded their entrance._

 _'Might I assist, gentlemen?'_

 _The shopkeeper here could not have contrasted with the apothecary's proprietor more comically. Where that man had been burly, short and unkempt, this wizard might not have looked out of place dining with the Minister. He was nearly as tall as Albus, with sweeping robes in a handsome indigo, rings glinting on several fingers, and both hair and eyes of deepest black. He assessed the pair as he swept from the back room to greet them by the door. Albus could tell he did not think them particularly inviting prospects… but he kept an unctuous smile and perfect manners all the same._

 _'Just having a look about,' Gellert answered. Albus noticed that his accent was suddenly far more prominent. 'Vladimir Vasiliev suggested I pay a visit.'_

 _The proprietor bowed his head with a barely-concealed renewal of interest. 'My name is Caractacus Burke,' he told them, though his gaze was now focused on the foreigner. 'I am one of the partners. Do let me know if you see something you like; or, perhaps, if you do not. We can cater to all manner of… interests. Some are not openly displayed.'_

 _He gave them another bow, and retreated toward the counter._

 _'Your Arithmancy professor suggested you visit an antiques shop in London?' Albus asked in a sceptical undertone, following Gellert on a tour of the spacious room._

 _'Of course not,' Gellert scoffed impatiently. 'But he is well known for his personal collection. I have found his name works wonders, under the right circumstances.'_

 _Albus chortled. 'So long as you are not found out.'_

 _'Not likely,' Gellert said with a shrug. 'Vasiliev is nearing three-hundred, and his mind is starting to go. He would probably tell them I am his son, should anyone suggest the idea. But that is – ah.'_

 _He had stopped their stroll in front of a glass-fronted floor to ceiling cabinet of carved mahogany. The shelves inside displayed many smaller trinkets, statuettes and jewellery._

 _Gellert was staring at a pendant – very old, of tarnished silver. It was set on a faded violet cushion far back in the case, but Albus could tell at once that this was the object which drew his friend's attention. Slowly, Gellert opened the ornate door. He retrieved the pendant with trembling fingers, staring at it in amazement. The design was large, filling almost his entire palm. The silver seemed to gleam a bit brighter at the contact._

 _'By hand of Fate,' Gellert murmured, nose inches from the pendant._

 _'What are you –'_

 _'Pretty, but fairly common,' Burke informed them, interrupting Albus' query as he joined them at the cabinet. 'The man who pawned it insisted it hid particular powers… but we have had it appraised by our entire team, and if the pendant is hiding them, she does so well. We found nothing but ancient silver. Still… Goblin made, and quite old.'_

 _'How much?' Gellert asked._

 _'You may have it for eleven galleons,' Burke said, with another of his little bows._

 _'Three,' Gellert countered, fingers already clenched over the charm._

 _'Nine.'_

 _'Four.'_

 _'I'll not go a Knut under Eight.'_

 _'Let us call it Seven then. And I shall not insist on its polishing.'_

 _'Done.'_

 _The shopkeeper took Gellert's gold with a practised rapidity, and bowed them into the street. Albus did not say a word as they left. When they were out of sight of the shop, however, he yanked Gellert into a shadowed alleyway and fixed him with a calculated stare._

 _'I would not have taken you for a fanciful man,' he noted._

 _Gellert grinned. 'Nor have I ever been called such,' he acknowledged. He pulled the pendant out from his pocket, tossing it high in the air and catching it. 'You know the symbol then, I take it?'_

 _'Of course I do,' Albus scoffed. He snatched the triangular pendant from its third flight, holding it up to trace. 'Wand, Stone and Cloak,' he said aloud as he fingered the silver. 'The three gifts of Death.'_

 _'The Deathly Hallows,' Gellert agreed, taking his purchase back. 'The combination of which makes one Master of Death.'_

 _Albus' gaze narrowed. 'What interest have you in the Deathly Hallows?' he demanded._

 _Gellert's violet eyes seemed to flash. 'Do not pretend you have not thought about it,' he countered knowingly._

 _Albus hesitated, and Gellert smiled. 'Of course you have. Surely you must have done. Young, ambitions, gifted with magic that surpasses nearly all your peers… Surely you have been drawn to the Quest. Think about it, Albus. Master of Death… The Master of Death is the master of Power. The greatest of all wizards. He could change this world.'_

 _And Albus could not deny, to himself, that he_ had _thought of it. That he had_ wanted _it. He could not pretend that his scholarship and trials had not been motivated by this very idea. How many books had he perused, studied, memorised? How many spells and potions and ancient runic markings had he perfected? How long had he worked… to become the best there ever was; the best there ever could be._

 _And yet…_ he _could not be. Not now. He had to return, for Ariana. He had responsibilities._

 _And it mattered not. The Deathly Hallows, like his own scheme for a future, were naught but fairy stories; dreamed by gullible children in the night._

 _'I have considered it, yes,' Albus answered at last. 'I heard the tale as a child. I have heard the fables since. But there is no firm proof of the Hallows' existence, Gellert… save for one.'_

 _'The Deathstick,' Gellert nodded. 'Yes. Tales of the Elder Wand's triumphs have peppered the histories of Wizard-kind from Britain to Mongolia to Egypt. That it exists is not in debate. The only question, is_ where _.'_

 _'True enough,' Albus agreed. 'But the others' existence is far less certain – if indeed there were ever three to begin with. Neither the Cloak nor the Stone has been seen in living memory.'_

 _'All Magic leaves traces, Albus,' Gellert disagreed. 'You know this. Sometimes, to follow the river, you must return to the pool from which it sprung.'_

 _Albus frowned._

 _'You asked me, the day we met,' Gellert went on, 'Whether I – like my aunt – am a magical historian.'_

 _'I recall,' said Albus._

 _'I am not,' he confirmed. 'But in this, I have dabbled. And Godric's Hollow, Albus…. Godric's Hollow_ is _the pool. It is the key, I am certain, to unlocking the Hallows' mystery. The Master of Death begins and ends the journey in the village.'_

 _'How can you know this?' Albus asked._

 _'I have seen it,' Gellert said simply. 'And when we return… I will show you.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was nearing two in the morning when Albus apparated into the shadowed lane. Hidden under an exceptional Disillusionment Charm and appearing in silence, Albus went unnoticed in his entrance by even the bedraggled cat searching through the rubbish on the corner. He glanced around. Several grubby-looking wizards were sitting in an abandoned outdoor booth at a closed pub, playing at cards and passing a bottle between them. Farther down the lane, a frizzy-haired witch was tottering home on shaky heels, muttering to herself in Mermish. Otherwise, Knockturn Alley was dark and deserted.

Albus strode quickly toward his destination – shuttered though he knew it would be. He cast a privacy charm about the entrance, and tried the handle. He was unsurprised to find it locked. Beyond the wood, however, he could hear the pottering of the man he sought.

He unlocked the deadbolt with a silent spell, and pushed the door soundlessly ajar.

The intervening years had rendered Caractacus Buke far greyer, more mottled, and distinctly hunchbacked… but they had not addled his mind. In a flash, the man had abandoned his inventory and whirled to face the door, wand out and eyes sharp beneath a thatch of grey hair that fell into his face.

'Show yourself!' he commanded.

'I do apologise,' Albus answered politely, lifting the charm as he spoke to reveal his presence. 'I never intended to intrude so rudely. I do find, however, that it is sometimes most prudent to keep one's visitations private. Alas, this can occasionally lead to unnoticed callings… an unfortunate, but necessary precaution.'

Caractacus Burke lowered his wand an inch or so, but did not store it.

'Dumbledore,' he greeted stiffly. 'This is a surprise.'

Albus inclined his head. 'Apologies once more,' he said politely. 'But I do find myself in search of a certain magical artefact… and I am hopeful you will be able to assist.'

Burke frowned. He gestured about the room with a thin arm. 'We are closed,' he pointed out. 'If you would like to return in the morning…'

Albus smiled. 'I had hoped to find you after hours, actually,' he admitted. 'I took a chance that you still keep to Tuesday night inventories… But I am not looking to purchase, tonight. It is, rather, information I seek.'

Burke's eyes darkened. His face seemed to pale. He glanced at the darkened street through the front windows before speaking, and did so through gritted teeth.

'I have given you all the information you requested already,' he said, all manner of courtesy gone. 'You and the Ministry both. I had no contact with Him after he left our employ… and I have nothing to add all these years later. They can check our books – it's all above board…'

'You misunderstand me,' Albus said gently. 'I am not here about Tom Riddle.'

 _Not precisely_ , he added in his head.

Burke seemed to relax a fraction. 'Well then… what information could I have, Dumbledore, to interest you?'

Albus began walking about the edge of the room, glancing into some of the display cases as he spoke. Though his gait was casual and his tone light, the eyes he felt tracking him remained distrustful.

'I am attempting to trace a locket,' he said, fingering the edge of a silver-plated snuffbox. 'A very old locket, possibly a thousand years, made of gold.'

Burke snorted somewhat derisively. 'We sell thousands of ancient artefacts, Dumbledore,' he told him. 'Even a locket as old as you seek… I can think of more than a dozen that would have matched the description.'

'This would have been sometime around 1926,' Albus clarified. 'It may have been pawned by a young woman, as a family heirloom. I doubt you would forget her easily… I dare say she would have been ragged, yet the necklace quite valuable.'

Suddenly, Burke looked excited. 'You can't mean _Slytherin's_ locket?' he asked incredulously.

Albus twinkled at him. 'Indeed,' he admitted. 'The very same. I trust you did acquire it, then?'

Burke grinned. 'Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances… I remember it well.'

'How, exactly?' Albus asked, working hard to hide his own excitement.

Burke gave a wheezy chuckle at the memory. 'It was brought in near to Christmas… I do not recall the precise date now, but it was sometime in the mid-twenties, certainly. A young witch brought it to us. She begged us to take it – desperate for gold… might have thought her a squib, to be honest, the state of her. Covered in rags and filth, and I never did see a wand. She was pregnant, and pretty far along at that. She placed the locket on the counter… a pretty thing and fine metalwork, but nothing particularly gorgeous. Then she tells me the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we get that sort of story every day. 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favourite kettle,'… but I took a look all the same. And there it was – his mark, plain as day. Took only a few spells to show it was authentic.'

'And you purchased it?' Albus prompted.

'Oh, of course,' Burke confirmed. 'Would have paid half of Gringotts for it – we knew we'd get it back three times over, to the right buyer. But the girl had no idea what it was worth… she might have stolen it, for all I knew. I opened with ten Galleons, and she was thrilled. Best bargain we ever made!'

Albus supressed his disgust with difficulty. 'Indeed,' he said shortly instead. 'And I do not suppose you still have it?'

The proprietor gave another dry laugh. 'Of course not,' he scoffed. 'It was sold, a few years later. One of the most lucrative sales we ever had.'

Albus nodded. He had expected as much. 'Might you have the records still?' he pressed. 'It is essential that I track its ownership…'

But the shopkeeper was shaking his head. 'I don't need the records to remember that one,' he said. 'It was bought by Hepzibah Smith – big customer, for many years. After she died, the family fought over her treasures for nearly fifteen years… we submitted multiple inventories for their comparison. I expect she did not make finding her artefacts particularly easy.'

Albus perked up at once. The name was one he recognised.

'Hepzibah Smith…' he repeated thoughtfully. 'She was one of Riddle's clients, was she not?'

Burke's face grew dark once again. 'Yes,' he admitted curtly. 'The last he saw, actually.'

'Indeed,' Albus said, deep in thought now. 'Indeed…'

'She died, in fact, not long thereafter,' Burke went on. 'The family came asking for him – wanted to know if he could tell them how she protected their inheritance… her House-elf – the one that killed her accidentally – said she'd been fond of him.'

'I expect so,' Albus said quietly. He straightened up. 'Thank you for your assistance,' he said, stepping forward. 'I do appreciate the courtesy.'

Burke continued to look sullen. 'I don't want trouble,' he said. 'Whatever you're up to… if it's to do with him, you'll keep me out of it.'

'I will,' Albus promised. 'Unfortunately… I shall need to perform a Memory Charm on you to do so.'

Burke paled further. ' _What_?!' he demanded hotly. 'Absolutely not, Dumbledore!'

Albus grimaced in apology. 'I would prefer it were not necessary,' he assured him. 'But should the wrong people become aware that you and I have spoken of these subjects tonight… I fear it could put your life in danger, along with the greater Wizarding World. I am afraid I must insist… though I would, of course, prefer your consent.'

Burke's eyes studied him hard – misgiving and fear warring in their depths. 'Fine,' he relented at last.

Albus raised the Elder Wand, and removed his visit from Caractacus Burke's history.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus was leafing through a copy of _The Practical Potioneer_ in the headmaster's usual chair when the charm he had set over the brat's room began to sound.

 _Of course it did_ , he thought bitterly to himself.

He slapped the journal shut and swept for the stairs, stalking toward the boy's chambers. The door burst open to his wandless spell.

Potter was standing in the centre of the room in bare feet and scarlet pyjamas. He whipped round as the door slammed off the wall, squinting in the low light without his glasses.

'Professor?' he asked in surprise. 'Er… what are you doing?'

Severus lit the candles, appraising the boy as he entered further into the bedchamber. Excepting the look of shock, he did not appear in any acute distress. His eyes snapped to the scar… but it was whole, and quiet.

'Did you have a dream?' he demanded.

Potter's eyes narrowed. 'He's sent you to watch me?' he volleyed back impertinently. 'Why? Where did he –'

'Drop the insolence and answer the question,' Severus commanded. 'Did you have a dream?'

'No,' Potter said tersely. 'I had to use the loo.'

'Indeed,' he mocked. 'Well then, back to bed with you.'

But Potter did not move. 'Where's Albus gone?' he asked. 'He didn't mention needing to go out tonight.'

Severus' eyes flashed his fury. 'You will address me as 'sir', Potter. Or for every additional reminder I must give, I shall begin a tally of detentions to be handed out once term recommences. And the headmaster is a very great wizard, with many demands on his time. He has no requirement to share those demands with _you_.'

Potter's face glowed scarlet. 'Fine,' he spat. 'I'll ask him myself in the morning, _sir_.'

He pushed past Severus, climbing back into the bed. The professor watched him, calculating.

'I shall retrieve additional potion,' he said, turning for the door.

'I don't need more Dreamless Sleep!' Potter protested. 'I haven't had any nightmares in over a week… _sir_ ,' he added, at Severus' glare.

'On the contrary,' Severus said silkily. 'You will need more than whatever dose Albus has provided, if you are still capable of waking in the night. This is the danger in long-term use… your body builds a resistance to the potion, and reduces its potency. It can cause both addiction and dependency in time. As such, Potter, it is not Dreamless Sleep but Essence of Lavender I shall be dosing you with tonight. Not as effective a remedy as Dreamless Sleep, but a far more natural one. I shall suggest to the headmaster that he begin supplementing your dosage.'

Potter continued to watch him distrustfully. 'I've never heard of it, sir,' he said.

Severus' upper lip curled. 'In all your _esteemed_ Potions research… I am stunned, Potter.'

'I am!' Potter shot back hotly. 'I know about the sleeping ones, _sir_ ,' he insisted. 'I looked them up – in my first year, when I was…' he trailed off for a moment, suddenly wary. 'I looked them up,' he repeated instead. 'I wanted one I could make myself… but they were all really complex, and I didn't want to mess it up.'

'A wise decision,' Severus said sarcastically. 'As doing so can result in narcolepsy, permanent paralysis, or death… And you, Potter, would most _certainly_ have managed one or the other.'

'But I didn't see essence of lavender there,' Potter insisted, ignoring the snide comment. 'And I would have remembered, _sir_ – since that one isn't even really a Potion. It's in the student store cupboard. I could have helped myself.'

'I am the Potions Master at this school, Potter,' he reminded him. 'I dare say I am a _shade_ more knowledgeable on the properties of ingredients than you. Essence of Lavender has been shown to induce tranquillity and restful sleep in certain people.'

'How can you _know_ it will work for me?' the boy demanded.

Severus stared for a moment, debating his answer. _But why was he bothering with an answer at all_?

'You will take it, boy, or I shall force it down your throat,' he spat at last. 'Lavender has very little in way of potential side effects… it cannot do you harm.'

He swept from the room over what he was sure were Potter's continued protests, yanking the familiar phial out of Albus' store cupboard. By the time he had returned, Potter was silent, though still glaring daggers at Severus' approach.

He passed over the phial.

'Two swallows,' he commanded. 'And be warned, it is quite bitter.'

'Of course it is,' Potter grumbled. But he took the phial as directed, pulling a face as he swallowed.

He kept it a few moments after, turning it around in his hand as his face relaxed. He did not take the glass of water Severus offered. Instead, he brought the phial to his lips again.

'No more,' Severus said, swiping it away. 'Two is more than sufficient to –'

'I wasn't trying to swallow it again,' Potter said. 'I was smelling it. It's familiar, somehow…'

Severus froze with the stopper in hand. Potter was looking at him.

'Lavender is a fairly common ingredient,' he said dismissively. 'In potions, and in household items. Muggles use it often in candles or soaps.'

'Not Aunt Petunia…' Potter mused, almost to himself. 'She prefers sandalwood.'

Severus corked the little phial firmly.

'Practise your Occlumency,' he ordered, sweeping for the door again. 'One of these days, Potter… I may choose to test it myself.'

He closed the door smartly, retreating down the stairs…

Lily's scent in his pocket.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _The moment they had landed soundlessly in the sunny village lane, Albus knew there was something amiss. He could feel it in his very bones._

 _Instinctively, he turned from the path to Bathilda's, looking back up the street in the direction of his own home. No sounds came from the Dumbledore residence. All the same, Albus could sense a deep wrong in the soft furls of smoke from the chimney; the shimmering haze of raw magic in the air._

 _'I was too long,' he murmured._

 _'Albus –'_

 _'Stay here,' Albus said sharply, without turning. He set off for the cottage at a run._

 _Bursting through the door, Albus was met with the chaos he had feared. The front hall was rent apart – the bench in splinters and strips of fabric from the many cloaks strewn about the room like papier-mâché. Albus could tell at once that the main commotion was centred in the sitting room, and he hurried for it – wand drawn beneath the turn-up of his sleeve._

 _Aberforth was cowering behind a sofa, attempting to reason with their sister. Ariana's form was just barely visible in a cloud of black and grey. Unnatural winds whipped the room like a tornado, pulling the portraits and tapestries from their hangings and sending embers from the fire to spark dangerously against the carpet._

 _'What happened?' Albus growled out tersely, backing toward his brother._

 _'You were gone, again,' Aberforth spat out. 'How many times –'_

 _'What hap–'_

 _'I don't know,' Aberforth said. 'It could be anything, these days. She doesn't understand – with Mother –'_

 _The gale intensified, and Aberforth pushed Albus roughly to the floor as the sofa sailed through the air, crashing into the opposite wall with enough force to shake the foundations._

 _'Ariana,' Albus tried, straightening with his palms flat. 'Ariana… it's alright, you can do this. Everything will be –'_

 _He ducked himself this time, as the table flew after the sofa. Ariana began to flail, caught in the storm she could not subdue. Albus hastened to cast powerful sealing charms at the windows and door, containing the madness. The phial of phoenix tears fell from his pocket, rolling back and forth around its cork on the floor._

 _'Don't use magic!' Aberforth shouted in his ear, yanking him again from the path of destruction just as Albus managed to swipe the tears back from the ground. 'You only make it worse!'_

 _'What do you suggest we –' Albus began angrily, but he broke off as she loomed again, face terrible and furious, yet still discernible amid the darkness._

 _'Ari, come now,' Aberforth encouraged, voice much softer. 'It's alright, my love. You are safe. This shall pass, like all the others. Hettie is about to have her kid. Don't you want to see it? You always loved the little ones, darling. So tiny… small enough to lay in your lap.'_

 _The swirling fury seemed to lessen… and it seemed, for just a moment, that the worst of the rage had passed._

 _Then something moved._

 _Albus saw it first, in the very edges of his periphery. A face at the window… bright, calculating violet eyes…_

 _And then Ariana saw it too._

 _The rage reignited in a force more terrible than Albus had ever witnessed. Candles burst their sconces. A deep crack appeared in the ceiling, dropping sheet rock on their heads. The window – where Gellert's face still loomed – was peppered with the debris, though Kendra and Albus' combined charms seemed to be holding it intact._

 _'It's that boy!' Aberforth shouted in fury and panic. 'That Grindelwald you spend all your days shut up with. Albus, you fool! You've ruined –'_

 _But his brother's rant was stifled, as the Obscurus attacked the fire again. Ash and embers gave way to a wall of flames, billowing out at the pair of them, gathering speed…_

 _Albus barely extinguished them in time._

 _'Calming Draught,' he ground out to Aberforth._

 _'I tried it,' he said anxiously. 'Spelled a phial in straight away, just like Mother always used to… but Albus, she's too strong,' Aberforth said grimly, his own wand drawn now. 'What are we going to…'_

 _And Albus knew he was right. The creature before them was not their sister. It had taken her utterly – parasite devouring host until the force was much, much stronger than poor Ariana could hope to be. And he knew that to control this – to subdue it – would require the most powerful of magics. He_ might _be able to bring it to heel… but at what cost?_

 _Sooner or later, Death always claimed his prize._

 _'She's too strong,' Aberforth repeated. '_ It's _too strong. She can't control it…'_

 _Years later, Albus was not entirely sure what made him do it. Perhaps it was the mysterious force that had guided his purchase that morning… perhaps it was merely because the phial sat in his palm. Perhaps it was because when all options seem exhausted, there is nothing to lose in hope._

 _He popped the stopper from the phial of phoenix tears, touching the tip of his wand to the silvery water. With his sister trapped in the beast's grip halfway across the room, it never should have worked. But Albus tried all the same – murmuring the long, complex chant exactly how Kendra had taught him, coaxing the substance free from its container, guiding it to Ariana's Core._

 _All at once, the madness halted. For a brief moment, the swirling cloud of black seemed to freeze, as if charmed to suspension in mid-air. Then it dissipated; furling in on itself over and over again… until at last the teenage girl was visible in its haze. Ariana collapsed to the floor as the Obscurus finally abated: golden hair tumbled and loose, white dress free of the ash and soot that surrounded them, face perfectly angelic in a peaceful sleep. Albus and Aberforth approached cautiously, wands out… but Albus knew the storm had passed. He stared down at her sleeping form, and wondered yet again how this horror could be contained in such a picture of sweetness._

 _'Carry her upstairs,' he requested – whispering, though they both knew from experience she was likely to sleep for hours._

 _'What was that?' Aberforth demanded, kneeling on the ground beside their sister but not quite touching her. 'What did you do to her?'_

 _'Phoenix tears,' Albus explained. He summoned the stopper wordlessly, sealing the remainder in the phial. 'It was lucky… I had just purchased them this morning.'_

 _Aberforth stared at the silvery tears with reverent wonder. 'How did you know?' he whispered. 'Mother never said…'_

 _'I didn't,' Albus admitted. 'I have never read anything of the sort, though of course, it is well known that phoenix tears have exceptional healing properties. But then, they are so rare…'_

 _He frowned down at the phial, thinking hard. 'I will have to acquire more,' he said, almost to himself. 'They are so expensive… Gellert tried very hard to talk me out of –'_

 _But his brother had bristled again. '_ Grindelwald _,' he spat, voice harsh again. 'He_ saw _, Albus… he knows!'_

 _'Calm yourself,' Albus cautioned, watching Ariana warily. 'We cannot afford to argue. I will see to Gellert. I am sure I can think of some way to diffuse the incident…'_

 _Aberforth grumbled, but scooped Ariana up off the floor with both hands – not daring to chance lifting her with magic. Though she was just shy of fourteen, their sister looked slighter than ten in his arms._

 _'You had better,' Aberforth warned in a low voice. 'Because if you have ruined everything, Albus… I swear I shall never forgive you.'_

 _Albus waited only long enough for Aberforth to mount the steps before throwing open the front door. He intended to sprint to Bathilda's; to find Gellert, and beg his silence. He would pray that Gellert, though so learned, would not know what he had stumbled upon. Alternatively, he would hope that their brief friendship would serve to hold his silence… Or, if it seemed it would not, he would Obliviate him, if he had to. If he could._

 _If, of course, Gellert had not already shared the information._

 _Bathilda might already have guessed… She had been the closest thing to a confidante Kendra had had since their move to Godric's Hollow. She alone of the villagers knew of Ariana's existence; she_ might _know why it was they kept her shut away. She had never pried; had never discussed family affairs with Albus. But she might have guessed._

 _Would she ensure Gellert kept silent? Could he risk asking?_

 _What Albus had not anticipated, in his wild imaginings of all possible scenarios… was his quarry himself awaiting him in the front garden._

 _He stopped short, slightly out of breath._

 _Gellert was leaning casually against a fence post, arms crossed over his chest. He was smiling that crooked, mesmerising smile… his violet eyes shining as he turned the silver pendant he'd bought that morning over and over in the fingers of his left hand. In spite of the horror he had just encountered, Gellert looked for all the world as though he'd done nothing more exciting than lounge away the morning in the sunshine._

 _'Those tears were worth more than I'd expected,' he said lightly. 'Next time, I swear I shan't protest.'_

 _Albus' eyes narrowed. He had one hand on the handle of his wand beneath his sleeve – something he was sure Gellert had not missed._

 _'Indeed,' he agreed shortly. 'Gellert, I do not know what it was you think you saw…'_

 _Gellert grinned. 'Fear not, Albus,' he said. 'I do not intend on writing the press. Though I dare say it_ would _make an excellent piece… such excitement I have not seen in months. An excellent diversion from the mundane.'_

 _He pushed himself off the post, striding for the door to the house. Albus – wrongfooted by the odd conversation – did not move to intercede until the other boy had crossed the threshold. He hastened to follow… but Gellert had already shown himself into the sitting room._

 _He stared around the devastation, eyes wide and shoulders tensed._

 _'She is ill,' Albus defended, instantly on guard. 'A magical affliction… a virus, of sorts. It should run its course with time.'_

 _Gellert was eying him shrewdly. Despite the destruction of the sitting room that Albus had not yet set to rights, the blond boy did not look frightened in the slightest. On the contrary, he appeared mildly incredulous. Albus thought he saw a strange gleam in the violet eyes before their gaze was broken._

 _'We should work here, from now on,' Gellert decided. 'It should ease your concern somewhat, if we aren't darting back and forth. Have you got a cellar?'_

 _'I've told you, we cannot,' Albus hissed. He tried very hard not to allow anger in either his tone or his magic… he did not want the house affected._

 _'Of course we can,' Gellert insisted. 'A few precautionary spells should solve the problem. And you'll only need to dash up the stairs rather than the street, should something go amiss. I'll fetch the rest from Batty's.'_

 _'Gellert!'_

 _Albus followed him toward the door, irritation becoming more difficult to keep in check. 'We cannot. It would not be safe. Ariana is ill –'_

 _'No,' Gellert broke in with a brusque shake of the head. 'No… can't you see?'_

 _He stopped at the threshold, eyes shining as he turned to face Albus again._

 _'That is not illness, Albus,' he disagreed. 'That, my friend… that is power.'_

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Eight**

 **BlueWater5** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed this chapter. There are definitely more scenes to come of Remus and Sirius' summer as well as the aftermath of Snape's father's death. And for certain we will continue to see Albus' past unfold… so I hope you'll enjoy that. Hope you'll like Chapter Nine!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for reviewing! Happy to hear you liked the chapter – it was definitely an important one for Severus. Hope you enjoy Chapter Nine!

 **Wendy H** : Thanks for your review! Wonderful that you enjoyed the chapter so much. We'll definitely see more of Albus' past as Part III continues – and we will also see the Bill/Albus/Gellert quest wind its way into murkier waters. Sirius and Remus will have a few scenes in the upcoming chapters that I hope you'll enjoy as well. As for Tobias' death and Severus' arc this summer… I think you will soon see where that bit takes us. Hope you like Chapter Nine!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very glad you enjoyed it so much, and promise I'll try to keep the updates speedy! :) It's lovely to hear that you are liking how Albus' past has been portrayed – it's something I am very excited to delve into further as this book unfolds.

I am sorry about your father-in-law, and send my best wishes to you and your family that he will continue to stay healthy and strong! Cancer seems to resonate with so many people through personal experience, and each story is as awful as the next. My own uncle passed of oesophageal cancer which spread to his liver, which was where I drew a lot of inspiration for the description of Tobias' physical appearance. It's a horrid disease.

As to what Severus will do about Spinners End… we'll definitely see follow-up shortly. Probably in Chapter Ten.

Thanks for your continued support, and enjoy Chapter Nine!

 **StormOwlRage** : Thank you for reviewing! Very glad you are still enjoying the series, and I thank you for your compliments! It is truly touching to hear that you're liking the series so much.

Happy to hear you liked the end of Part II… we went down a lot of paths and dropped many crumbs throughout the course of that story, and a lot of pieces will (I hope) come together as we continue with Part III and into the later books beyond. Very pleased you enjoyed the conclusion of Sirius' arc. I know it was not 'freedom' in a sense that a lot of readers were probably hoping… but it was 'freedom' in a different sort of way, and a full circle for his character that I was excited to try and bring to life.

Part III… Darker. Mysterious. A _lot_ of unexplored area will be covered throughout this book, and I hope it will be fun to read as we continue. The Albus and Gellert tale, in particular, should be fun to explore. Glad to learn that so far you are liking that, as well as the bits with Harry and Albus and the Sirius and Severus backstories. I hope you enjoy Chapter Nine!

 **Guest Reviewer** : Thank you for reviewing! To answer your queries, yes – I definitely enjoy getting any and all reviews and I love to hear readers' thoughts and perspectives. To me, the dialogue that FanFiction allows between writer and reader is one of the most interesting and valuable parts of the platform, and it is why I allow all reviews (signed and unsigned) and try to make the effort to respond to everyone. In terms of content… I have no hard and fast rule, except that I dislike when reviewers (to any story) just leave troll remarks or say how much they are disliking a story. I find it unproductive and frankly ridiculous, given that there are millions of fanfictions online and on this site alone, and I am fully supportive of the idea that there's a genre and a story for everyone – no need to read or comment on something you aren't liking at all. With that exception, I am happy to read and respond to nearly anything in review.

In terms of what I find helpful… I guess it depends. I like to hear readers thoughts – particularly on themes, foreshadowing, theories, etc. It helps me determine whether readers are 'getting' the bits that I've slipped in that will be important later, or whether things need to be more or less explicit. In terms of ideas and/or desires for plots/scenes, I definitely encourage sharing. Some tend to do this by review, others have made requests or suggestions via personal message instead. The latter is probably the better method for keeping anything that does get in a surprise for other readers, but I have no hard and fast rule on preference. I will say in all honestly that I have a lot of this series (all eight planned instalments, not just Part III) plotted out in terms of major points. Some areas and characters' arcs are planned more thoroughly than others, and sometimes as I am writing I decide something I've planned does not work, or would work better later… or some idea strikes me and I go with a different direction than I'd originally anticipated. I can't promise that ideas or suggestions will be taken up – particularly for events that are soon in coming or if something about it would alter or conflict with another scheme – but I'm certainly open to hearing them and entertaining new ideas. I've also had a few requests for one shots that I am considering fulfilling as separate projects.

In terms of harkening back to Parts I or II or past chapters – I'm not against it. Generally, it is easier for me to comment on reviews that are specific to the chapter, but again it is not something I am against revisiting. In terms of characterisations and, generally, pairings, I am happy to defend or explain my own choices, but I think a lot of readers have their favourites and have found that many readers' opinions on characters and potential pairings are drastically different from their fellows. My own portrayals are fairly set in stone, as this series is a lot about characters and I likely will not vary from how I've planned their development.

In terms of continuing discussion from past reviews/responses, either way is fine. I have some reviewers with whom I've continued discussion in response and/or PM on many areas for multiple months, and others with whom the exchange is usually one-off per chapter. I think if it's more of an 'argument' (and meaning no offence by the term, as I am a barrister and basically I argue for a living, so I have no scruples with it and take very little offence as a general rule), I do prefer to continue the discussion via PM rather than review/response, only because I think other readers sometimes would prefer I shorten review response and where it is a point I've already covered and/or a discussion that's really between two people, its better had 'offline'. However, I think a lively debate is often the best way to explore a two-sided issue, and I spend a great deal of time myself and with Lizzie grappling over COH, so I never mind the exchange.

I hope this is helpful in some way! I suppose the main point is – as long as you are not a 'troll', I am alright with you opining on anything that suits your fancy in review, and will almost certainly respond. I do wish that I could post this earlier than Chapter Nine, as I would love to hear your thoughts on Chapter Eight (which is quite possibly my own favourite chapter thus far and has a lot of larger implications)… but I can't PM this as the review was a guest listing, so I hope you will leave your Chapter Eight comments after the posting of Chapter Nine.

Enjoy the chapter!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. I thought it might be interesting to see Snape in a place so beyond his comfort zone, and of course it was an opportunity to explore the relationship between father and son and what, exactly, it means to be father and son in the first place. Josie – and her family – are more than they appear. We met Gemma briefly way back in Part I, and they will return before COH concludes. How Snape chose to end his father's life and why was an interesting thing to play out as a writer. I have my own views on this, of course, but I wanted to leave bits of it deliberately ambiguous for readers' own interpretation… because I truly do feel that Severus, perhaps, does not know precisely what makes him to what he does. Is it mercy? Is it justice? Is it merely knowledge of the wider world?

Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was Love.

I hope you like Chapter Nine!

 **rawanaymanhamed23** : Your review just made it in time… and I am happy I can oblige. Enjoy Chapter Nine!


	10. The Old Guard and the New

**A/N: PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**! I was a bit disappointed with the lack of response to the last chapter.

Enjoy 'The Old Guard and the New'!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TEN

 **The Old Guard and the New**

Albus would not tell Harry the next day where he had been the night before. Nor, to Harry's great consternation, did he seem as miffed with Snape's intrusion as Harry himself had been. On the contrary, he made a point to place an owl order to replenish his supply of Essence of Lavender.

Beyond the Occlumency, Harry was continuing with a whole host of summer tutorials. He had started up with Transfiguration and Charms again, both with Minerva. He had Potions twice weekly with Snape in the dungeons, and two days a week he returned for wandless lessons. Harry was getting better. He had finally managed in their lesson Thursday afternoon to successfully disarm Snape without speaking or using his wand – a feat which Harry celebrated, and Snape acknowledged with a stiff nod and a snide comment that he ought to have managed it in their first lesson back.

What Harry was really looking forward to, of course, was continuing his lessons with Dumbledore. Excepting Occlumency, they had not had any additional tutorials beyond Harry's impromptu lesson in France. Dumbledore had decided that he would not start teaching Harry in Ancient Runes or this mysterious 'attuning' technique he'd mentioned until after they returned from their few days' planned visit to Sirius and Remus. He did, however, call Harry down to his study after supper on their final evening in the castle before the minibreak for a different sort of lesson.

'What are you going to show me, sir?' Harry asked – for Albus had been hinting at the surprise all day.

The headmaster smiled. 'Something I have been considering since the end of term,' he said. 'I think the time is ripe for it now. I wish you to teach you a method of communication. It is known only to a select group of individuals and performed by even fewer, but it is a highly effective and speedy way to get in contact, particularly in emergencies.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Are you going to show me how to send a message with my Patronus?'

Albus inclined his head. 'Indeed,' he agreed. 'I think you will find this enchantment dovetails nicely with the work you have been performing with Professor Snape, in addition to our own explorations into Occlumency and the nature of magic.'

'Sounds good,' Harry said. 'Er… how does it work?'

Dumbledore waved his wand around the room. In an instant, the furniture had pushed itself up against the walls; knickknacks and books found homes in the already crowded shelves and cases; and the lighting dimmed to a more muted glow. Harry supposed the latter was to aid him in seeing the Patronus – though the stag, if it formed as it had before, was quite bright all on its own.

'It has been some weeks since last you performed the charm,' Albus noted. 'First, I would like you to practise the spell again. When you are ready.'

Harry took a deep breath, drawing himself together. ' _Expecto Patronum_!' he bellowed, brandishing his wand.

He had not expected it to work – not after such a long break. To his slight surprise, however, the great silver stag burst at once from the end of his wand. He cantered around the office on soundless hooves, putting the flickering candles to shame. Fawkes let out a soft note of song as Prongs finished his display, coming to a halt between Albus and his master. Harry smiled at him.

'Very good,' Albus commended. He took a few steps around the stag, watching him as he came to stand next to Harry. 'My, but he is a powerful beast,' he appraised quietly. 'Brighter and larger, now, than he was the first time I saw you cast the spell. You have done well, Harry.'

Harry smiled. Albus did not seem in a hurry to continue. Harry let himself relax, allowing Prongs to slowly fade away. The circular office seemed much darker in his absence. Only once the Patronus had vanished did the headmaster face him again.

'Tell me,' he said when it had gone, 'What do you draw from for its creation?'

Harry shrugged. 'It depends,' he answered truthfully. 'My parents, sometimes… my friends. You,' he added, colouring a bit.

Dumbledore did not look surprised. His eyes were twinkling as he nodded. 'And yet, when it appeared on the Quidditch field, you told me yourself that could not recall what it was that conjured it.'

'It's… it wasn't that I couldn't recall, exactly,' Harry disagreed. 'It was more just… it wasn't a memory or an image at all, really. I just wanted to win. I wanted to play. I couldn't let them take that from me.'

Again, Albus nodded. 'And in the grounds, the night you saved your own lives, and those of Sirius, Ron and Hermione… what did you use to power that Patronus Charm?'

'I…' Harry thought back, frowning. 'I couldn't let them get him,' he said at last. 'Sirius. Or Ron, or Hermione. I couldn't let them die out there – or worse. I had to save them, because I was the only one who could.'

Albus nodded for a third time. His eyes were practically dancing.

'Does that matter, for this message thing?'

'Not precisely, no,' Albus admitted. 'But I think it could be helpful elsewhere. I urge you to think about the common trend, Harry. What is it about the images you draw from when there is time for conscious thought that bears similarity to the emotion you felt under imminent threat? What is it, in other words, that is the source of your power?'

Harry stared, not really sure what to say. 'Can't you just tell me?' he asked after a frustrated moment.

Albus chuckled. 'Certainly I could,' he agreed. 'But I will not. It is something, I think, that you must work out for yourself.'

'But –'

'And now, to business,' Albus said.

He waved his own wand through the air, conjuring the familiar silver phoenix. Its light was even brighter than Prongs' had been.

'The charm is a fairly simple one,' Albus told him, as his Patronus soared overhead. 'At least, it is simple in comparison with the Patronus conjuring spell. The trick is in the casting, for it is both nonverbal and wandless by necessity.'

Harry noticed the words came from the phoenix itself, rather than the headmaster.

'Why by necessity?' Harry wondered aloud.

'Because the Patronus is a light magic, quite literally,' Albus explained. 'It is a portrayal, in many ways, of the caster's own soul… and it is through this same connection that the communication charm must be cast. It is almost more Mind Magic than traditional spellwork, though it does use a silent incantation.'

'Okay…' said Harry, trying to keep it straight.

'The incantation is _'alis fidei_ ,' Albus told him. 'You must cast in your mind, and focus the energy of the spell on the Patronus you have conjured. Follow the incantation immediately with the message you wish to send – again, silently in your mind. Finally, you must give the Patronus a destination – the name of the person you wish to receive the message.'

'Okay,' Harry said again.

Albus inclined his head. 'Give it a try,' he encouraged. 'Something simple… tell me what you had for supper.'

For the second time, Harry conjured his stag Patronus. He thought the words _alis fidei_ inside his mind. But as he went to think the words ' _chicken and mash_ '… Prongs winked out of existence.

'A common problem, in the beginning,' Albus assured him. 'Your focus was on the incantation and the message, but you neglected the connection itself. You must consider the Patronus as an extension of your own being, Harry. It is not the receiver of the thought – merely the conduit by which you will convey the message. Try again.'

Harry did. And again. And again. Not until the fourth time did anything happen. The Patronus bowed its head once at Harry, then strode the few paces between them to the headmaster. But the message it gave was tainted – garbled and faint.

'A good effort,' Dumbledore encouraged, when Harry groaned in frustration. 'And a good place to leave it, for tonight. You will exhaust yourself otherwise. But practise with the spell every so often… we can revisit it together when we return to the castle.'

He clapped his hands together, and the room began to reassemble. The headmaster returned to his desk as the sofas clunked into place.

'Filius brought back a selection of sweets on his return from Yorkshire this afternoon,' Albus said, waving a hand at the table, where a parcel had just reset itself. 'Choose something with chocolate, if you would. It ought to fortify you best for Occlumency tonight after the efforts of this evening.'

Harry grinned, making his way down to the collection of brightly wrapped treats. The massive parcel nearly covered the surface of the low table. He selected a Chocolate Frog. He'd always liked the novelty cards. Biting the head off his sweet, he fumbled the wrapping for the witch or wizard. Ironically, he found himself staring at Albus yet again. The first he'd ever got… though Harry was starting to suspect there were more 'Dumbledore' cards in the Chocolate Frog assortment than any other famous witch or wizard. This made three in his own collection alone.

He sank into an armchair, idly flipping the card to read the description – though he knew it nearly by heart.

 _Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald –_

'Nurmengard…' Harry whispered, remembering suddenly.

He almost did himself a cut as he clenched the paper card. He looked up. Albus was behind his desk, crooning to Fawkes, who was perched on the corner. Harry rose to join him. Albus broke off his stroking of the phoenix as Harry drew near.

'Harry?' Albus asked curiously.

He handed him the chocolate frog card. Albus took it with a ghost of a smile, chuckling slightly as the image version of himself gave a wink. 'Ah, yes,' he said, still smiling as he looked back to Harry. 'Of all the titles and awards they will insist upon granting me… this is my particular favourite. I should like every wizarding child to think of me as he or she steals a sweet before supper.'

But Harry, still focused on his query, did not smile. He was not quite sure how to phrase it. After all… they nearly always spoke of the problems of the day – Harry's problems. The dark wizard that had consumed Harry's life. He had known since that first trip on the Hogwarts Express, of course, that Albus Dumbledore had conquered Gellert Grindelwald. But it was hard, at times, to remember that there had _been_ a great threat of darkness, before Lord Voldemort's time. That Albus himself had fought that war, and won.

Of course, he could not believe that in three years of knowing the headmaster as he did, he had never inquired about it before.

'What's in Nurmengard?' he asked, by lame way of an opening question.

Albus froze, the Chocolate Frog card still in hand. He was scrutinising Harry very closely.

'Why do you ask, Harry?' he returned quietly.

Harry nodded at the card again. 'It says, on there, that you defeated the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald,' Harry said. 'I've heard his name a few times… mostly from Hermione. He was supposed to have been the worst dark wizard in history, wasn't he? At least before Voldemort?'

'Yes…' Albus agreed slowly. 'Grindelwald was considered by many to have been the darkest sorcerer in modern times. Some still consider him so. His motive, and methods, were not identical to Lord Voldemort's… and his reign of terror was focused outside Britain, for the most part. It is difficult to make a true comparison. That both committed horrible crimes, of course, is undisputed.'

'Right,' Harry agreed. It was not his point. 'Anyway, I'd always thought that when it said you 'defeated' him, it meant you'd killed him. But last week, in lessons with Snape –'

'Professor Snape, Harry.'

'Yes,' Harry hurried on. 'He said you hadn't. Killed him, I mean. He said you'd locked him in his own prison, Nurmengard. I think Fred and George said something about it too, actually… at the Quidditch final last term.'

Albus was silent.

'Are you asking me if it is true?' he asked after a moment. 'Or whether Grindelwald still resides in Nurmengard?'

'I –' Harry hesitated, thinking about it. 'Neither, really,' he decided. 'I wondered… why. Why did you go after him in the first place? Why put him in prison, instead of killing him? Why let him live at all? Why did _you_ get to decide, either way?'

Albus sighed heavily. 'All perfectly reasonable questions,' he relented. 'You are not the first to ask them.'

He swept out from behind his desk, striding for the sitting area. He gestured toward the sofa. 'Sit, please,' he invited. 'I rather doubt these queries might be answered in a moment's conversation.'

Harry sat, and waited.

'It is true,' Albus began. 'Though you did not precisely ask, that Gellert Grindelwald resides in Nurmengard to this day. He is the fortress' only prisoner – in the topmost cell. I duelled with Gellert Grindelwald in May of 1945, in an area of Germany that today is known as Hesse. He had, at that point, been steadily gaining power for more than forty years, though the best known of his acts of evil did not begin until the 1920s. He had established tyranny over a great portion of Europe, and even into the Americas, northern Africa, and parts of Asia. Britain was left largely untouched, in the main.'

'Why did you have to do it then?' Harry interrupted. 'Why not… I don't know – someone on the Continent? You can't have been the _only_ wizard powerful enough – no offence meant, of course.'

Albus gave a wry smile. 'Was I?' he asked, almost to himself. 'Perhaps… and perhaps not. I will not pretend that my own abilities were not well-known, even at that time – though, of course, the aftermath of our duel changed a great many things. Certainly, there were other witches and wizards of prodigious skill alive throughout Grindelwald's reign. Several joined him. Others resisted. He was challenged, many times. And he defeated them all.'

'Until you,' Harry pointed out.

'Until me,' Albus agreed softly. 'Although my success, as I well knew, was far from assured. Grindelwald was born a great magical talent, and had the ambition to grow that talent into power formidable enough to bring the world to heel. I had seen him duel before, and I knew what awaited me. I did believe I was up to the task – perhaps even a shade more skilful… but, at that point, it mattered little either way. He was the most powerful man in the world. If I did not succeed, all would be lost.'

'Was he more powerful than Voldemort?' Harry asked. 'His magic, I mean?'

Albus cocked his head, considering. 'It is a different sort of power,' he decided at last. 'They were skilled in different areas. But I knew Grindelwald's magic well, Harry. It is perhaps the best reason I was able to defeat him, where so many others could not. I understood the way he worked, and I knew what steps he had taken to ensure his domination. I was able to prepare for our confrontation accordingly… to my advantage, in the end.'

'Why did _you_ get to decide what happened to him?' Harry repeated. 'Didn't… weren't there people that wanted him dead?'

'Of course,' Albus readily consented. 'Thousands. But you must understand. The world was in chaos, my dear boy. Governments were in shambles, or completely non-existent. The whole of the Continent was strewn with the casualties of war – Wizarding and Muggle both. I met with what remained of the International Confederation of Wizards and explained my intentions. Not a one stood against me. All were too grateful, I think, to have Grindelwald finished. In the years since, there have been those who argued a reconsideration… but the original decision stands.'

'Do you ever regret it?' Harry asked. 'Not ending him, I mean. Not getting a final justice for the people he killed?'

Albus seemed to ponder the question for a moment.

'Regret it…' he repeated softly. 'No, I do not. Grindelwald killed – or played a role in the deaths of – hundreds of innocents during his decades of power. He killed men and women I admired. People I liked. Even people I loved.'

'I _could_ have killed him, Harry,' he emphasised. 'I could have. But doing so would have been vengeance, not justice. And it would have been a selfish choice, in many ways. I set out to face Grindelwald to save others from his wand; I did not set out to murder. His death would not have returned innocent lives… but it would have altered me, permanently. And so, I chose the path I believed would do the most good. I gave Grindelwald the sentence that, I think, served as much more punishment than death would have done. I gave him fifty years in solitude, to contemplate his actions and repent his mistakes. I ensured that no other innocent lives would be lost at his hand. And, to me, that seems the best justice I can give those who are gone.'

'And do you think he's doing that?' Harry challenged. 'Grindelwald… you think he regrets what he did? You think Dark wizards can feel that remorse? You think _Voldemort_ could?'

'Voldemort, as I have already indicated, is a very different wizard than Grindelwald. His path has taken him in different directions, and he has done things in his own rise to power that Grindelwald would never have considered. Grindelwald, for all his faults, has always been a man. A terrible, vicious man at times, it is true… but a man, nonetheless. I doubt he shall ever find redemption for the travesties he has inflicted upon the world – but he can, perhaps, come to find remorse. Lord Voldemort is a different entity entirely.'

'So… you _do_ think he deserves to be killed?' Harry clarified. 'Voldemort, I mean.'

'Deserves to be? Perhaps,' Albus answered, maddeningly enigmatic. 'Grindelwald too deserved it. But living with the weight of one's sins, Harry, is a far worse punishment than death. Still, it is not always an option. I rather doubt it shall be, in the case of Tom Riddle.'

Harry frowned. 'You're not making it very clear,' he complained.

Albus smiled slightly. 'I do not think it will be my decision to make,' he said gently. 'Not this time. And, for the moment, it is no decision at all. Lord Voldemort cannot be killed, imprisoned or otherwise unless he can be conquered – and that is the question that should concern us at the present.'

Harry tried to digest the weight of the conversation. It felt foreign to him… like he was venturing into an entire portion of Albus' life whose existence he had never truly contemplated.

'Will you tell me about it?' he asked. 'The duel with Grindelwald?'

Albus inclined his head. 'A thrilling tale,' he acknowledged. 'And yes… one day, I shall relate it. Tonight, however, it is already growing quite late. I am sure you want to be rested for your lessons tomorrow… and, perhaps more importantly, our visit to Sirius and Remus in the evening.'

'All right,' Harry relented, with just a hint of disappointment. 'Goodnight, Albus.'

He was almost at the stairs when he thought of one last line of inquiry. He turned, frowning. Albus was already waching him.

'Yes?' he prompted.

'You said you gave him solitude,' Harry recounted. 'Grindelwald.'

Albus nodded. 'He is Nurmengard's only prisoner,' he said. 'There is a caretaker – an elf – who guards the fortress, but otherwise it is abandoned. The location is unplottable. No wizard would be able to find it, unless I myself permitted their entrance.'

'Right,' said Harry. 'But… _you_ would be able to go, wouldn't you? If you wanted to.'

'I would,' Albus agreed. 'The wards are my own, so naturally I may pass them.'

'And have you?' Harry pressed. 'Have you gone back there, to see him, since the day you locked him up?'

For once, he could not see the piercing blue of Albus' eyes. The flickering of the candlelight off his spectacles obscured them from view. All the same, Harry thought the headmaster's shoulders stiffened, ever so slightly.

'I have,' Albus answered quietly. 'Though only recently.'

Harry stared. Somehow, he found he had expected this answer.

'Why?' he asked.

Albus gave a deep sigh. 'Because sometimes, my dear child, it is necessary to go back, in order to move forward.'

Harry could tell this was supposed to mean something… but yet again, he did not understand. Albus was stroking Fawkes again – not precisely looking at Harry, but not turned away, either.

'Right,' Harry said, for lack of anything else. 'Er… good night.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Harry!'

His godfather had him off the ground almost as soon as Remus had whipped open the door, crushing Harry to him in a bear hug. Harry returned the tight embrace, amazed both at the enthusiasm of the greeting and the strength in Sirius' grip. After all – Harry was hardly shorter than his shoulders, now. Beneath his arms, however, Harry could feel strong muscles and meat. Sirius was far from the emaciated skeleton he had met in the forest so many long months ago.

'Good to see you too,' he laughed, when at last Sirius had set him back on his feet. He turned to embrace Remus as well – though it had not been quite as long since he had seen him. 'What's new?'

'Oh, just the usual,' Sirius said, smiling as he pulled Harry aside so that Albus and Minerva could enter. 'Eating, drinking, swimming, working a bit… indulging Moony's psychotherapy.'

'It isn't _psychotherapy_ ,' Remus protested, rolling his eyes while he shut the door.

Harry laughed. 'I've had a bit of that myself,' he admitted with a grin.

'Well, how have you been keeping?' Sirius asked in turn, appraising him. 'You look well. How's the holiday?'

'It's been…' Harry hesitated slightly. 'Okay,' he said after a moment. 'Busy.'

'So I've heard,' Sirius said, the smile slipping slightly as he shot a look at Dumbledore over Harry's shoulder.

'Why don't we sit down to supper?' Minerva suggested, stepping forward. 'Personally, I am famished. Six visits today alone, and the Wilsons kept me near to three hours with questions…'

Albus sent their bags upstairs with a flick of his wrist, and Remus led the way into a cosy dining area. The table was already laid with a delicious roast dinner. The aroma made Harry's mouth water. He turned to Sirius.

'You cooked already?' he asked, surprised.

Sirius snorted. 'Me? Nah. Remus won't let me near the hob. He's usually the chef at Shell Cottage… but we even he can't take credit for this one, I'm afraid.'

Harry looked to Remus, who smiled. 'Albus was kind enough to send several elves ahead of your arrival,' he explained. 'They prepared tonight's meal.'

Everyone dug in enthusiastically, and for a while the conversation became stilted in the excess of food and drink. Sirius _almost_ managed to slip Harry a bit of the oak-matured mead the adults were drinking, but Minerva – eagle-eyed as ever – vanished the goblet just as it touched Harry's lips.

'Really, Sirius, he's not yet fourteen!'

'Ah, Minnie, it was only a taste!' Sirius complained.

She glared at him, chest inflating, though whether she was gearing up to continue her lecture on underage drinking or outraged at the use of the nickname that – so far – Harry had only ever heard the Dumbledores use, he was not sure.

Either way, the headmaster's hand on hers seemed to stay the explosion.

'There is butterbeer,' Albus offered instead, sending a flagon Harry's direction with a twitch of his wand.

Harry did not have the nerve to argue.

'I hear you visited Beauxbâtons,' Remus said, clearly redirecting chat. 'How did you find it?'

So Harry told Remus and Sirius about his trip with Dumbledore, and everything he could remember of the bits of France he'd seen, the school, and the students of the French institution he had met. This led, naturally, into a discussion about the tournament. Harry wondered aloud what sort of tasks the champions would be facing (Albus and Minerva flat out refused to tell him). Though Remus and his godfather joined in the debate enthusiastically, Harry couldn't help noticing there seemed to be something strained in Sirius' smile.

'I wish I could compete,' Harry said longingly, as Minerva finished listing out some of the tasks that had been played in the past. 'It sounds brilliant.'

'It does,' Sirius agreed, looking almost wistful himself.

'I cannot say I share your sorrow,' Albus admitted, though his eyes were twinkling. 'You get into quite enough mischief all on your own.'

'Too right,' Minerva agreed.

But both Harry and Sirius frowned. 'There's no such thing,' Sirius joked.

'At least we shall have Quidditch off my heart this term,' Albus noted.

Harry choked so badly on his butterbeer that Remus had to beat him on the back.

'Wh- _what_?' he gasped out through his burning throat. 'No _Quidditch_? What have I done to –'

Albus handed him a goblet of water, shaking his head. 'It is not a punishment for you, Harry,' he assured him. 'We are cancelling the Quidditch Cup this year. The tournament will take much time and energy for the staff, and the focus of most of the students. Not to mention the addition of several dozen pupils for most of the year. Traditionally, Hogwarts has suspended Quidditch in years where we have played host to the Triwizard Tournament.'

Harry chewed his lip irritably. Suddenly, he was not so certain this tournament sounded all that great.

'Have you finished with the arrangements, Albus?' Remus inquired.

'Nearly,' the headmaster acknowledged. 'There are a few details left to iron out, but I dare say we shall be quite prepared by the start of term. For the tournament, at any rate. To staff our lessons… that all depends on our errand tomorrow.'

Remus inclined his head. Harry knew better than to ask after the Defence recruit again; but this time, Sirius did it for him.

'Mad-Eye still holding stubborn then?' he asked.

Harry whipped his head around at once. 'Mad-Eye?' he repeated. 'What's a Mad-Eye?'

'Moody's pet name,' Sirius answered with a chortle, ignoring Minerva's shake of the head. 'Your new professor.'

'Your new Defence teacher is called _Mad-Eye_?' Harry asked, turning to the headmaster this time. 'What sort of nickname is that?'

'His true name is Alastor,' Albus answered. 'Though 'Mad-Eye' has caught on in recent years, due in part to his own encouragement, I suspect. I had rather hoped to keep his addition to the staff a surprise…' he shot a pointed look at Sirius, who had the grace to blush. 'Though I suppose it was only a matter of time either way. In any event, it is not a sure thing just yet.'

'You're going to see him tomorrow?' Harry asked.

'Indeed,' the headmaster agreed with a smile. 'For what I hope will be our final attempt to persuade him.'

'Mind you keep your wands about you,' Sirius warned with another snort of laughter. 'You hear what he did to his birthday present?'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Worst idea you ever had, Dumbledore,' Mad-Eye Moody grumbled.

He wrenched the stopper out of his hip flask with his mismatched teeth and spat it aside. Its chain clinked off the metal as he took a deep pull, still shaking his head.

'Worse even than bringing on that perfumed buffoon few terms back.'

Remus kept his poker face, but he privately did not much disagree. He wondered again that Albus had made the choice… and why he'd insisted on Remus' company in this errand.

'If you mean Gilderoy,' Albus said lightly, his eyes twinkling and his manners as easy as ever, 'Then I must disagree, Alastor. There is much to be learned even from the most dreadful of teachers, even if the lesson is what not to be. I had hoped that Gilderoy too would gain from the experience… perhaps acquire a certain grace of humility. Alas, that portion of my scheme, I fear, did not come to pass as I'd intended. As such, I cannot imagine your own position on the staff could compare to the decision to employ Mr Lockhart.'

'Shan't be having a position, Dumbledore,' Moody disagreed with a snort. 'I've told you. More trouble than the whole lot of Ministry fools, that castle full of hormonal miscreants. Can't be expected to keep to the rules, and I'll not be trying.'

'Alastor,' Albus argued calmly. 'Difficult times are approaching –'

'Aye, I reckon so,' he agreed. 'We've seen more than ten lives' share of Dark times already, you and I. I expect they'll be ten more to come in our autumn years. And I'll be here when they arrive, Albus – you know I will. But I don't see what Hogwarts –'

'Harry is at Hogwarts,' Remus interrupted, speaking for the first time. Moody's normal eye shot toward him. 'Harry Potter,' he continued. 'Darkness has already stirred, Moody. It won't be long before it gathers strength. If Voldemort should return, he will come for Harry. Hogwarts is the centre of it all.'

'Voldemort's been languishing in southern Europe since he fled the castle after the Potter boy thwarted his efforts to obtain the Philosopher's Stone,' Alastor countered. 'He has not ventured from his hideaway in more than two –'

'He will venture now,' Albus assured him. 'Or quite soon, I expect. I have reason to suspect he is already being aided in his quest to return to power, Alastor. It will not be long before he returns to Britain. The time has come to come out of retirement, my friend. The fight is nearly upon us.'

Moody frowned, taking another deep swallow. 'You know I will, Albus. Been ready all my life. But I don't see how Hogwarts factors in.'

'As Remus has already mentioned, Harry is at Hogwarts,' Albus said. 'And he is not the only one. All our students must receive proper instruction. They must be prepared. We cannot count on the Ministry…'

'Aye, that much is true,' Moody muttered in agreement. 'Bunch of doddering old –'

'And the Triwizard Tournament will be played this year,' Albus continued.

At this, Moody's eyes narrowed. 'You think that wise, Albus?' he challenged, echoing Remus' own concern. 'To have so many foreigners in the school… to have _Karkaroff_ about, if you believe his master will return?'

'There are many risks,' Albus agreed, inclining his head. 'I will not call off the tournament at this point. But we could use your talents, Alastor. And your eyes.'

Moody gave a huff, drumming gnarled fingers on the edge of the table. 'Fine,' he relented at last. 'Fine, Albus. Never expected a peaceful retirement anyway…'

'Excellent!' the headmaster said, eyes twinkling as he clapped his hands together. 'Well then, Remus here can return in a few days' time and fill you in on what has already been covered… and I myself will have the examination materials for the past few years and the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. lists of testable topics sent by owl.'

'Yes, yes, very well,' Mad-Eye grumbled. 'But when the howlers start coming, Albus… don't you come complaining to me.'

'I should never dream of it,' Albus promised.

He doffed his hat cheerily, and the pair of them swept for the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'So, what do you fancy for the rest of today?' Sirius asked, when he and Harry were left alone after luncheon while Albus and Remus called at Moody's and Minerva visited additional first year students.

Harry shrugged. 'I don't mind,' he said. 'What do you usually do in the afternoons?'

Sirius scratched at his chin. 'Depends,' he said, unhelpfully. 'Sometimes we have a drink… but you're a bit young for that. Could have a game… but it's sunny, and not too hot. We should be outside…' He brightened as a thought occurred to him. 'We could go swimming?' he suggested. 'The beach is just down the stairs.'

Harry grinned. 'The beach sounds great!' he agreed enthusiastically. But then his face fell somewhat. 'But… I'm not a very good swimmer,' he admitted.

Sirius was flummoxed. 'You never learned?' he asked, surprised. 'I didn't think there were many kids nowadays who haven't –'

'There aren't,' Harry said, a bit bitterly. 'At least, not many I know. Dudley had lessons with most of our class when we were small, but the Dursleys never signed me up. Probably hoped I'd drown one day.'

He said the last with dry humour, but Sirius did not laugh. He was outraged.

Something of his emotion must have shown on his face, for Harry hurried on.

'I mean – I _can_ sort of… paddle about, you know,' he assured him. 'I'm not completely useless…. But I've never even gone wading in the sea before.'

'The currents can be strong,' Sirius warned. 'Even for good swimmers, the ocean is another thing entirely. But no matter. You learn today.'

Before Harry could utter another word, Sirius had pointed his wand at him. A second later, Harry was clad in bright scarlet trunks. He went ahead and transfigured his own robes as well… it was easier than the trek upstairs.

'Right then, all sorted,' Sirius said, nodding. 'Let's go.'

He led Harry through the back room and onto the veranda, taking the steps two at a time as they wound their way to the beach below. It was a trip he had made nearly every day since he and Remus had arrived at Shell Cottage, but each time he felt that same sense of boyish excitement he had had on their first dive. The run had grown easier – his muscles and mind relaxing.

Today, he could hear Harry moving a bit more hesitantly behind him. He turned at the base of the staircase, flipping his hair from his face.

'It'll be fine, Harry,' he assured him.

'I'm not scared!' Harry insisted, though with minimal conviction.

Sirius smiled. 'I'll make sure you stay afloat,' he promised. 'There are things we can use to –'

'I am _not_ wearing one of those rubbish inflatables like a Muggle child!' Harry said firmly.

He laughed. 'Not what I meant,' he assured him. 'There are charms that will keep you up. Come on.'

He led the way down the sandy embankment, feeling the sand grow damper beneath his toes. The sea seemed to yield to their needs today – the surface was unusually calm; the shore kissed by lapping waves rather than crashing surf.

'It's a bit chilly,' he warned, wading into the shallows.

Harry was more cautious. He stuck one foot in first, shivering slightly.

'Bury your feet in the sand,' Sirius advised. 'Tide's coming in now – the bottom will be warmer than the water. It'll ease the transition a bit.'

He watched Harry wriggle a bit as he followed the advice – plodding forward while trying to keep his feet in the sandy seafloor. It was slow going.

'A _bit_ faster,' he encouraged. 'Or we'll never get you in.'

'Give us a chance,' Harry shot back. 'It's freezing! I have to ease into it…'

Sirius snorted. Quite suddenly, he took several long strides and dove headfirst into the water, kicking his feet at the surface. He emerged, laughing, and turned to find Harry drenched head to toe and glaring daggers his direction.

'Wanker,' Harry shot at him.

'Oi – mind your tongue,' Sirius retorted, though his wicked grin undid some of the reprimand.

Now that they were both wet, Sirius spent the next hour or so teaching Harry the basics of a stroke. Perhaps it was years of Quidditch training, or perhaps natural athletic inclination… but either way, Harry was a fairly fast learner considering he was picking up the skill so late. After a while, however, Sirius could see Harry was tiring. Even he was growing chilled with the long submersion in the icy surf.

They relocated instead to the sand, where Sirius summoned a couple of fluffy towels that had been warming in the sun on the veranda. He tossed one to his godson, and the pair of them sank, slightly breathless, onto the beach.

'You're good,' Sirius opined, scrunching his hair to drain the worst of the water. 'Bit of practise, and you'll be comfortable in no time. Your mother would be proud… she always liked to swim.'

Harry smiled, as he always seemed to when someone brought up Lily or James. 'Really?' he asked eagerly.

Sirius nodded. He flopped back on the length of the towel, letting the high sun do the bulk of the drying. 'She grew up by the river, your mum,' he told Harry. 'Not a very pleasant river for swimming, I don't think… but Lily made do. That was the one thing she griped about when she moved into Godric's Hollow – she'd always wanted to be closer to the shore.'

Harry copied his position, twisting down to make the sand beneath his towel into a more comfortable cushion. 'Not my dad?' he asked.

'Nah,' Sirius said. 'James didn't mind the water, but he was never mad about it.'

'How did you learn to swim?' Harry asked. 'Did your parents teach you?'

Sirius propped himself up on his elbow, frowning as he thought about it. 'You know… I really don't remember,' he said honestly. 'We used to holiday at the shore every summer, when I was small. I had quite a few cousins close in age… we played in the waves together. Suppose I learned from them, or my uncle. He was a decent sort; better than my own parents.'

Harry shifted as well, so they were facing full on. He looked suddenly more serious. 'Remus told me a bit about them – about your life growing up,' Harry confessed.

'Did he?' Sirius asked, a bit darker than he meant to.

'It was ages ago,' Harry went on quickly, sounding apologetic. 'Before I knew you. Before either of us knew the truth about you, or Pettigrew, or what happened to my parents…'

'I'm not angry, Harry,' Sirius assured him.

'Right,' Harry said, still scrutinising him. 'Well, anyway… he said they'd been cruel to you, as a kid. He said you'd gone to live with my dad instead.'

'They were… not kind,' Sirius said, carefully. 'I was different, even as a young boy. It became worse after Hogwarts began. I left when I was sixteen, and moved in with James. Your grandparents were great about it. I wish you could have met them,' he added, smiling wistfully. 'They were wonderful people.'

Harry smiled a little sadly too. 'Yeah, me too,' he said. 'What happened to them? Did… did Voldemort kill them, too?'

Sirius shook his head. 'They were unusually elderly, when James was born,' he told him. 'They lived to see him married to Lily, but they both died of Dragon Pox not long thereafter.'

Harry nodded, still looking pensive. 'When Remus first told me about you,' he confessed. 'It bothered me – that I could see similarities, in the way you grew up and my life at the Dursleys. Now… I'm not _glad_ , exactly; I'm sorry that you had to go through that. It isn't fair. But it's also, sort of… nice, I guess. That you understand it.'

' _You_ should never have had to go through it, Harry,' Sirius said vehemently. 'That was never the future we wanted for you.'

'I got out too,' Harry pointed out. 'Just like you. Eventually… I got out, for the most part.'

'Yes,' Sirius agreed. 'But it doesn't change the fact that you were there. It never really leaves you, entirely…'

He trailed off, staring out at the sea. He wasn't even sure what he was referencing, anymore. His parents? The brother who had disappeared so many lifetimes ago? Azkaban? The war?

Beside him, Harry was silent.

'But what are we doing, ruining perfectly good sunshine with this sort of chat?' Sirius demanded, forcing himself to return to gaiety. 'Let's talk of something else.'

Harry gave a bit of a forced grin. 'Alright,' he agreed. 'What about this Moody bloke? You reckon he'll take the post?'

Sirius shrugged. 'He might do,' he opined. 'Never would have bet on Moody to teach… not school kids, anyway. But Dumbledore has a knack for getting what he wants. Could be he'll convince him.'

'You know much about him?' Harry asked. 'Do you think he'll be good, if he comes?'

'Oh, I've known Mad-Eye half my life,' Sirius said, grinning. 'He was big in the fight against Voldemort – probably the best of those who were Ministry-based, at least from a duelling standpoint. Head of the Auror department for years. I've heard he's gone a bit off it these days though. Doesn't surprise me, to be honest. He was always prone to paranoia. Not sure how it'll mix with a school full of pranksters… but I suppose Dumbledore has considered it.'

Harry frowned. 'Why does Albus want him, if he's mad?'

But Sirius shook his head. 'I don't think he's _mad_ , precisely,' he disagreed. 'At least, that's not what I hear. Vigilant, he'd probably call it. Word is, the Ministry forced him out. Fudge thought he'd become a bit of a liability. Albus disagrees… and I think he suspects Fudge of other motives.'

'What other motives?' Harry pressed.

'I don't know, Harry,' Sirius admitted with a shrug. 'This is all just… things I've been hearing, since I got out. I've never asked Dumbledore about it, exactly. But Fudge is an odd sort… I was surprised, myself, when I learned in Azkaban he'd taken the Minister post. He likes his comfortable life, Fudge. He likes order, and predictability. I expect Moody has become a bit of a hole in that fabric, these days. He and Fudge never got on much in their younger years either.'

'So now Dumbledore wants him to teach, since he isn't an Auror any longer?'

'It's not a bad idea,' Sirius told him. 'I know I joke about him… but Moody was a brilliant Auror. Half the prisoners in Azkaban are there because of him. He's devoted his entire career to fighting the Dark Arts, and he is incredibly skilled at it. He could teach a great deal to all the students at Hogwarts; and he is very loyal to Dumbledore. Moody is an excellent person to have in the castle, especially in days like these.'

Harry sat up on his towel, crossing his arms over his knees. 'So… you think it's true then?' he asked. 'I guess Remus, or Albus, must have told you – about that prophecy I heard… about how the servant will help Voldemort rise again?'

Sirius sat up too. 'Maybe it's true,' he said quietly. 'Maybe it's not. Prophecy is an odd thing, Harry. But even beyond Voldemort, there are others who pose a threat. And I wanted to talk to you about that. This Tournament Albus is hosting at the school this year – it could present a serious danger.'

Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. 'The Triwizard Tournament?' he repeated. 'But… I'm not of age to compete anyway. How could it be a danger to me?'

'There is a wizard,' Sirius went on grimly. 'He is head of one of the competing schools. But before –'

'Karkaroff?' Harry interrupted, looking an odd mixture of surprised and vindicated. 'Yeah, I met him – didn't I say? He was in France, when Albus took me to that meeting. I didn't like him, much. I don't think he liked me either…'

'Igor Karkaroff is a despicable excuse for a man,' Sirius spat. 'And he is dangerous, Harry. I do not want you within sight of him again, if at all possible.'

'Why?' Harry asked, frowning. 'I mean, he seems a right prat,' he said firmly. 'But if he's at the school all year, then –'

'He is a Death Eater,' Sirius finished. Harry's jaw fell open mid-word.

Sirius nodded. 'Or he was, at least, for many years. He betrayed a number of his fellows – traded their identities for his own sentence to the Ministry. I do not know whether he would attempt to return, should Voldemort rise again – but he is highly dangerous either way. He is no friend of Dumbledore's, Harry; and he is no friend of yours. He is a murderer.'

'Who did he –' Harry began to ask.

But Sirius shook his head. He did not have it in him to tell the story today… nor did he need Harry to have the images he himself dwelled on into the early hours of morning.

'Many people,' he answered instead, vaguely. 'They all did. And rumour has it he has spent the years since Voldemort's disappearance ensuring Durmstrang has a curriculum steeped in Dark Arts as well – so watch out for his students too.'

Harry was still looking dumbstruck, but he nodded. Sirius relaxed a little. He gave a nervous laugh. 'And here I was, suggesting we talk of lighter subjects,' he said. He glanced up at the sky, trying to judge the hour. 'Well, come on,' he said, climbing back to his feet. 'I think there's time for a bit more lesson before the others return.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Your face is more scarlet than your trunks,' Minerva chastised, watching Harry and Sirius trudge up the steps to the veranda late in the afternoon.

Harry jumped – clearly not having noticed her arrival. Sirius caught him from behind before he could break his neck tumbling back down the rickety staircase. Minerva huffed.

'Really,' she scolded, when at last they'd finished the ascent. 'You _might_ have provided something against the sun, Sirius.'

Sirius grimaced. 'Sorry,' he apologised. 'I've never been one to burn. I forgot.'

She chivvied them inside, scrounging up a balm from the satchel she'd brought and tossing it to Harry before he headed up to wash.

'The others not returned yet?' Sirius asked, emerging from his own shower first and still pulling a comb through his lengthening hair.

'No, not yet,' Minerva confirmed. 'Though Albus –'

She was interrupted, as the headmaster himself and Remus both appeared through the cottage door. Albus was smiling.

'You managed it?' Minerva guessed.

'We did indeed,' the headmaster confirmed.

'And about time,' she said in relief. 'As it is, I fear the booklists will go out too late. Did he give any estimate as to time?'

'Not yet,' Remus answered. 'But Albus has volunteered my assistance in preparing for the post… I will ask on my next call.'

Harry bounded down the stairs at that moment, looking far less scarlet for the balm. 'Your back!' he said, grinning at Albus and Remus. 'So… how'd it go?'

'We have a new Defence teacher,' Albus recapped.

'When can I meet him?' Harry asked, eagerly. 'Will he be by the castle?'

'I dare say he shall start popping by in August,' Minerva said. 'No doubt he will wish to inspect his quarters… he has a rather unique method of ensuring their security.'

Sirius laughed.

'What did you get up to this afternoon?' Remus asked.

'Sirius was teaching me to swim,' Harry informed them all happily. 'You should al join tomorrow – the beach was lovely.'

Remus agreed, but Minerva and Albus shook their heads.

'Unfortunately, I have several calls to make again in the morning,' Minerva sighed. 'Perhaps in the afternoon.'

'I also have an errand to complete,' Albus said. 'But, with any luck, I shall return with news after luncheon.'

The group made their way toward the kitchen, where Harry, Remus and Sirius began unloading the meal from the magical basket on the counter and carting the plates into the dining area. Minerva, however, caught Albus' arm and pulled him gently out of the others' hearing.

'What errand?' she pressed. 'You did not mention anything earlier.'

Albus glanced toward the swinging door. 'You shall find out tomorrow, my dear,' he assured her. 'There is someone at the Ministry I must speak to.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'What are you doing?' Harry asked, padding into the sitting room with his tea the following morning to find Sirius lounging.

Sirius' bare feet were dangling over the back of the sofa, where he had draped himself with what looked a huge blue tome resting on his chest. Harry nudged his leg, and Sirius shuffled himself upright so that Harry could sit.

'Just looking at some old photos,' Sirius said with a shrug. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the book. 'Albus head out?'

Harry nodded as he blew on the scalding cup. Sirius pointed his wand at the tea, and it instantly chilled to a drinkable level.

'Must learn that one,' Harry noted in appreciation. 'But yeah – he took off before I was up to see to whatever he had on. Minerva as well, though I don't think they were off together.'

'She'll be visiting the Muggle-borns again,' Sirius said sagely. 'Same every year.'

Harry looked up from the tea curiously, reminded of something he'd been meaning to ask Minerva. 'Is it?' he inquired of Sirius instead. 'I mean… my mum was Muggle-born. Did Minerva call round my grandparents' house, when my mum turned eleven?'

Sirius stroked at his chin, his brow furrowed. 'Someone must have done,' he agreed. 'But… I can't really remember. Not sure I'd ever asked. Might have been Minerva; could have been Flitwick though…' he trailed off, apparently stymied.

'It was Slughorn,' a different voice answered. Harry and Sirius both turned to see Remus in the entryway to the room, drying his hands on a tea towel.

'Ah!' said Sirius, nodding. 'Yeah, think I remember that now.'

'Who's Slughorn?' Harry asked, confused.

Remus shook his head. 'He'd have been before your time,' he told Harry. 'Slughorn was a professor at the school – the Potions Master, before Severus. He taught all of us while we were at Hogwarts… he was there for years; right up until Severus took the post. Good man, though a bit… pompous.'

'A bit pompous,' Sirius snorted derisively. 'That's like saying Dumbledore is just slightly inclined to the eccentric.'

Remus laughed. 'I'm going to put the kettle on,' he announced. 'Anyone else for tea?'

'I'm sorted,' Harry assured him, at nearly the same moment that Sirius said – 'And some food, Moony!'

Remus left the room muttering to himself.

'So, what photos have you got?' Harry asked, settling into the cushions.

'Have a look,' Sirius offered. He pushed the heavy book toward him.

Harry passed him the tea and took the album interestedly, staring down at the moving photograph Sirius had been studying when he came in.

It was his mother, he recognised at once. She was pregnant. Very pregnant, in fact. Lily was leaning against the sill of a window in a parlour Harry thought might be the dining room at the Red Lion in Edinburgh, though its walls were a different shade and he thought the chairs might have been reupholstered in the intervening years. Her hair was tied in a long plait over her shoulder, and she was laughing at something outside the frame – one hand on top of her enormous belly. Harry saw the ruby of the ring he'd watched James give her at the Hog's Head flash as it caught the sunlight through the window behind her. But as intriguing as Lily Potter's face always was to Harry… and as odd as it was to see her expecting _himself_ … something else about the photograph caught Harry's attention this time.

To his mother's right was another heavily pregnant woman; about Lily's age, or just a bit older. She had honey coloured hair that swung at her shoulders and a round, joyful face that was oddly familiar to Harry.

'Who's that with her?' Harry asked, indicating the other woman with his fingers millimetres from the moving image. 'She looks so… do I know her?'

Sirius gave him an odd look, as though Harry were having a joke. 'I don't think you'll have met her since your parents died,' he said, when he seemed to realise Harry was serious. 'But you must be in school with her boy, he's only a day or so older than you. That's Alice – Alice Longbottom.'

Harry felt a jolt in his stomach. Of course, now that Sirius said it, he wondered he _hadn't_ made the connection on his own… Neville resembled his mother almost as much as Harry did James.

'Neville's mum,' Harry said aloud. He watched her with a frown.

Remus re-entered the sitting room, setting a tray with tea and assorted crumpets down on the table. He crept round to have a look at the photograph over Sirius' shoulder.

'Here, I think there's – ah, yes,' he said in satisfaction, flipping the page to point out another photograph.

In this one, Harry found himself. He couldn't have been much older than a few months, propped up on his mother's knee. Harry could tell it was her from the locks of red hair that just barely made it into the top of the picture, and the familiar ruby of her ring again. The blonde woman – Neville's mum – was on the carpet beside the sofa. He recognised what he could see of the furnishings as the house in Godric's Hollow. Mrs Longbottom was holding up a baby who must have been Neville, so that he and Harry faced each other. Neville wasn't much bigger than he was, though with somewhat fuller cheeks. He had one fist in his mouth as he glanced curiously between his mother's face and Harry's.

Harry smiled at the image. But then he realised…

'When did they die?' he asked quietly. Both Remus and Sirius looked up, eyes furrowed. Neither answered. 'Neville's parents?' Harry clarified in the silence. 'I know he was raised by his grandmother…'

Sirius exchanged a glance with Remus. The latter cleared his throat.

'Has Neville never explained what happened to them, Harry?'

Harry shook his head. He felt a bit hot around the ears, wondering again how he could have failed to ask this information, in the three years he'd known his form mate.

'They are not dead,' Remus began heavily. 'But… it is difficult to explain –'

Sirius growled. 'No, it isn't,' he disagreed harshly. He turned back to Harry. 'The Longbottoms – Alice and her husband, Frank – were Aurors for the Ministry of Magic. You know what Aurors are? What Mad-Eye Moody did?'

Harry shrugged. 'Sort of,' he said. 'They're in Law Enforcement, right?'

'The most elite of the Law Enforcement divisions,' Remus clarified. 'They specialise in fighting Dark Wizards, and they only take the best into their ranks. It is very difficult to gain admittance to the Auror Programme from Hogwarts, and then the recruits undergo rigorous training for several years afterward. Frank and Alice were only a few years above your parents and us at school, but they were very talented and it was a time when the Aurors – like all wizards engaged in the fight against Voldemort – were suffering terrible losses. The Longbottoms rose quickly through the Auror division, and they were quite formidable duellists. By the time Voldemort fell, they were among the most renowned in the department.'

'When Voldemort fell?' Harry repeated, confused. 'But if they lived through that, then what –'

'Remember what I've told you, Harry,' Sirius cut in. 'Voldemort was not the only dangerous wizard. Many of his followers – the Death Eaters – were nearly as bad. After their master disappeared some ran in cowardice, like Wormtail –' he spat the name – 'But others went in search of Voldemort, and seeking revenge for his downfall. The Longbottoms were captured by a gang of perhaps the worst imaginable. They were tortured for hours for information.'

Harry felt sick to his stomach. 'Why?' he asked in a hoarse whisper. 'What could they have known that –'

'The Longbottoms, like your parents, were in hiding near the end of the war,' Remus explained. 'We believed there was a chance they could be targeted…'

'Why?' Harry interjected again. Remus and Sirius exchanged another loaded glance.

'A lot of people were in danger at that time, Harry,' Remus said, his face tense. 'Voldemort had amassed a great deal of power already, and his numbers of fighting men and women outnumbered those who were capable of opposing him in open battle. Several families were forced into hiding.'

Harry looked between Remus and Sirius. Sirius was not looking at him. Remus' eyes were strained. He could tell there was something further in the story, but Remus went on before he could press.

'The Longbottoms came back into the open when Voldemort was defeated,' he continued. 'Everyone thought it was safe…'

'But it wasn't,' Sirius said. 'Frank and Alice were sent to see to a riot on the outskirts of Manchester by someone at the Ministry. It was discovered sometime later that the worker was a spy for the other side. He sent them into a trap. When the Longbottoms arrived, they were set upon by a group of Death Eaters.'

'But… you said they aren't dead,' Harry pointed out, confused.

'They are not,' Remus agreed. 'They were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse for hours… until they were driven insane.'

And Harry remembered what Minerva and Snape had told him about the curse, the first time he'd been subjected to its effects. He felt ill again.

'What… what happened to them?' he asked quietly. 'What happened after?'

'Frank managed to get a message out,' Sirius said tersely. 'By the time reinforcements arrived, it was far too late. They were able to capture those who had tortured Frank and Alice… but both Aurors were worse than dead. They were transported to St Mungo's Hospital in London, where they remain in a closed ward.'

'There's _nothing_ the Healers can do?' Harry asked, revolted. 'Even after all this time?'

'Not all conditions have a cure, Harry,' Remus reminded him sadly. 'Augusta Longbottom searched tirelessly, in the early years. She spent half the family gold summoning Healers, philosophers, Alchemists… some even say she dabbled in Dark Arts in the hope of bringing them back. Nothing has ever proved successful. I believe Neville visits them from time to time… but there has never been improvement in their condition. They do not communicate, and they do not recognise Neville or his grandmother.'

Harry had never been to St Mungo's. But in his mind, he imagined a huge, stark building – like he remembered Grunnings had looked the one time Aunt Petunia had taken him along when she had to drop something with Uncle Vernon at work. He thought of Neville sitting with his parents over the years – knowing they were alive, and right in front of him, yet never reaching them. He remembered what it had been like to visit his own parents' graves… and then what he had felt when he looked upon the Mirror of Erised in its deserted classroom.

Without question, the Mirror's power had been worse. Heart-breaking to behold; even harder to leave behind.

Was that how Neville felt, every time he walked through the hospital doors?

'Are you alright?'

Harry felt someone's hand on his forearm, and looked up to see Sirius watching him anxiously. He realised he had been silent too long. He nodded.

'Just… it's horrible,' he said. 'I feel awful for Neville. Everyone's always felt badly for me – because my parents are dead… and everyone knows what happened to them, of course. But I feel like what Neville's gone through is worse. And nobody even knows.'

Remus was frowning. 'You should not tell them, Harry,' he cautioned. 'It isn't your story to tell. And Neville will not thank you for it.'

'I… I wouldn't,' Harry said quickly. 'Neville has enough to deal with, anyway.'

'What do you mean?' Sirius asked curiously.

Harry shrugged. 'He's not that good with magic,' he admitted. 'I mean… he's getting better,' he amended quickly, feeling guilty. 'But he struggles in lessons a lot. Especially Potions.'

'He did well in my lessons,' Remus reminded him. 'And Pomona says he is quite talented in Herbology.'

Harry smiled. 'Yeah, he's really good with plants,' he said. 'But… the other students rib him a lot. Even some of the teachers. Snape is particularly bad…'

Sirius growled. 'That's because Snape's a greasy git,' he opined. 'But who cares what he thinks. I wouldn't worry about the Longbottom boy, Harry.'

Harry looked up curiously. 'Why not?'

Sirius was grinning. 'His dad was a late bloomer too. Remember that story Alice used to tell, Moony?' he asked, glancing at Remus.

'About how she got Frank into N.E.W.T. Potions by betting Slughorn over the Quidditch Cup?' Remus asked, snorting with laughter.

'Worked out,' Sirius said, laughing too. 'Of course, Slughorn hadn't banked on James joining up that year. I always did like Alice…'

He sobered, and turned back to Harry. 'Frank didn't come into his own until about Sixth Year,' he told him. 'But when he did, he learned quickly. He was one of the best the Ministry ever had, and a better man for the hard work it took to get there. Neville will be alright.'

'But it doesn't hurt to stick up for him, in the meantime,' Remus added. 'Now, come on. This tea's going cold.'

Harry took the freshened tea from Remus' outstretched hand. But he did not take his eyes from the photographs.

'Can… can you make a copy of these?' he asked Sirius, when Remus darted back into the kitchen to fetch biscuits.

Sirius looked interestedly at him, but he did not press Harry for an explanation. Instead, he lifted each photo carefully from its plastic covering, and muttered an incantation. Harry slipped both copies into the pocket of his robes.

He wouldn't tell Neville that he knew… but he wanted him to have this small piece of their shared past.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'You wanted an update on the search, headmaster?' Kingsley Shacklebolt inquired, shutting the door to his modest office behind him after he'd shown Albus inside.

His voice was somewhat strained, and Albus understood. The Dementors might have been relieved of their posts at Hogwarts following the events at the close of term, but the hunt for Sirius had by no means ended. Indeed, it was – to some extent – more frustrating for the Ministry still, as they no longer were certain Sirius intended to go after Harry. Albus himself had arranged for a 'sighting' the previous week in Belgium, widening the net of possible locations… and disheartening the already frustrated Magical Law Enforcement team. The increasingly negative press on the Ministry's failures and the likelihood of an international goose chase had led Fudge and Scrimgeour to reassign the task of overseeing the investigation away from their political-minded selves.

Kingsley had become the unfortunate scapegoat. To his own vexation… and Albus' delight.

'Not precisely, no,' Albus admitted. 'Though I do prefer that is what others perceive.'

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. Albus brushed his hand lightly over the door handle, casting a silent charm. Kingsley's dark eyes tracked the movement, missing nothing.

'Why do I feel as though you about to ask another favour, Dumbledore?' he questioned slowly.

Albus smiled. 'Because you are not an ignorant man, Mr Shacklebolt. I wish to inquire after an old investigation – the death of one Hepzibah Smith.'

Kingsley frowned. 'I do not recall it,' he admitted.

'It would have been well before your time,' said Albus. 'An elderly witch, who lived alone except for her devoted House-elf. The House-elf was found to have accidentally killed her mistress, and the case was closed after only a few days' investigation. I have attempted to trace the elf myself, but I believe she died some years ago.'

'If it is so cut and dry,' Kingsley asked, 'What more can I assist with?'

'I wish to review the file, if at all possible,' Albus explained. 'They will have viewed the House-elf's memories, I think… it would have been common practice at the time to store the phial with the other materials of the investigation. Whether it still exists, I do not know… but it could be very important.'

Kingsley's curiosity was clear in his expression, but he did not ask additional questions. Kingsley, Albus was coming to notice, was quite opposite Alastor in this way – though both were brilliant in their chosen careers. While Alastor was quick to action and short of temper; Kingsley was exceedingly patient.

'I will see what I can do,' he assured the headmaster.

Albus nodded, but he did not leave.

'Was there something further?' Kingsley prompted.

'Indeed, there is,' Albus said. 'I wondered whether you might make some excuse for the remainder of the afternoon. There is something I should like you to see.'

'I… I can probably duck out,' Kingsley agreed, looking puzzled. 'I am the head of my team, so it is easy enough to claim a patrol or follow-up.'

The headmaster nodded again. 'Very well,' he approved. 'Make your excuses, and apparate to the gates of the school, if you would. I will escort you from there.'

Kingsley reached up to take his cloak and hat from the back of the door, folding the fabric over one arm. He turned to look at Albus. 'Where is it you are taking me, exactly?' he asked.

Albus smiled. 'I told you, some months ago, that there would be a place for the minority view, should the time come,' he reminded him. 'If, of course, you still feel about Cornelius and the Ministry as you did whence we met at Azkaban.'

'I remember,' Kingsley told him. 'My feelings have not changed, headmaster.'

'That is good,' Albus said. 'For the time is upon us, Mr Shacklebolt… and today, I will show you where you are needed.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The boat was old and rickety. Though the night was windless and the waters of the inlet fairly calm; it shook and creaked in the lapping waves, and the belly had at least two inches of sea sloshing at its centre. They could, of course, expand and fortify it once they got out of the harbour's shadow… but its pathetic nature still irked.

The journey through the Adriatic would be tedious, and lengthy even with magical aid. Even so, they would do better at sea than navigating a path through land torn apart by Muggle warfare. The boat could get them to the coast in northern Italy; a much safer option. He would not be strong enough for Apparition… but they could, with luck, speed their journey through the mountains and wilderness. Another boat to take them from France, and he would be home, at last.

Wormtail did not seem keen to embark. He dawdled in loading their supplies in the darkness, just as he had delayed in taking their vessel from its unwitting owner at the harbour. The Dark Lord had nearly feared he had been abandoned once more, so slow was the servant's return.

'Nagini first,' he whispered at last, once the bundles of food and ingredients had been stowed.

With shaking hands, Wormtail reached for the great snake. She hissed at him, and he drew back with a whimper.

The Dark Lord gave a dry laugh. 'She does not need your assistance,' he reproached. 'Pull the boat closer.'

Wormtail reached for the wooden side, bringing it near enough that it scraped against the rock they had been using as a makeshift dock. Nagini slithered closer. Her long, forked tongue tasted the salty breeze as she considered the pitiful means of transport.

' _It is the only way, my sweet_ ,' he hissed to her in Parseltongue.

' _It stinks of Muggle and fish_ ,' she complained. But she obediently lowered herself headfirst into the boat. Wormtail had to steady it again, as the weight of the great snake sent the flimsy vessel teetering.

'Now me,' Voldemort commanded.

Pettigrew's palms were dripping as he pulled the bundled robes tighter around his master. He lifted him and clutched him tight to his chest with one arm, his other hand gripping the slimy rock as he lowered them both carefully onto the weathered wooden bench. He was snivelling again as he waited for the boat to balance.

'Muggle means only, until we enter the open sea,' Voldemort reminded him yet again. 'It would not be wise to leave a Magical trail – even of the faintest kind.'

'Yes, my Lord,' Wormtail assured him.

He reached down, setting his master upon a makeshift bed of spare robes and bundled ingredients, and retrieved two crudely hewn oars from beneath the bench.

Wormtail's quickly-laboured breathing was the only sound to cut the night, as they pushed off the rock, and crept away into the darkness.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Nine** :

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! I know it has been over a month – I do apologise. Between work and family, it has been a very busy summer for us. But I am back, and with two fairly quick and rather long instalments! This one is a bit less dark (well… mostly, anyway), so I hope you will enjoy that. Of course, as I have warned, Part III is a much darker instalment generally than Parts I or II were, and I can safely promise that will continue as we move forward. I'll be honest that the Severus and Harry scene _almost_ did not make the cut for Chapter Nine… but, in the end, I thought it added a bit of lightness that I didn't want to give up. It also drops a few important bread crumbs that will resurface. There was also supposed to be an interesting Severus scene this chapter, but it was too lengthy in the end. Perhaps I will put it into Chapter 11 instead.

In any case, I am glad you enjoyed it. Hope you like Chapter Ten!

 **Leonore** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the chapter so much. Yes – the Gellert/Albus interactions (of past and present) are highly central to this particular book. I hope you'll enjoy where they lead. Caractacus Burke was a fun character to mess with – so I'm glad you liked that scene. And I'm glad you were tricked by the Sirius opener! I hoped some readers might be surprised a bit further in. As for Albus and Severus' conversation… remember it, for it will be the backbone of this entire book.

Enjoy the next chapter!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for your review! Happy that you liked the chapter – and I do hope you enjoy how everything plays out. Haha, we'll see on the character death bomb… hopefully I will not get a thousand haters once that drops. Enjoy chapter 10!

 **Guest Reviewer** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very glad the update was exciting for you, and great to hear you enjoyed the chapter. Hope you like the next instalment!


	11. The Shadows of Cokeworth

**A/N: PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**! Thank you to everyone who did for Chapter Ten – it really meant a lot.

On a different note, I did receive a PM this week that confused me, as it inquired about a potential Harry/Daphne Greengrass romance being foreshadowed. I'm not sure where this possibility arose from… as I think, thus far, I have only ever mentioned Daphne once. I don't usually comment on potential pairings – it's too much of a minefield… but I will say at the risk of disappointing a lot of shippers of this common fanfic coupling that it isn't one I am aiming for in this series.

With that, I hope you all enjoy 'The Shadows of Cokeworth'!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 **The Shadows of Cokeworth**

Cokeworth was just as disgusting as he remembered. It was a town frozen in time… but not in the charming sense. Instead, the entirety of Cokeworth had a sort of haze about it; a melancholy dreariness that echoed years of disuse, dilapidation and disinterest.

There were very few young children in the streets, though it was noon on a midsummer's day. Burly men eyed him suspiciously through the grubby windows of the pubs. One or two pitiable shopkeepers looked up hopefully as he passed their empty shopfronts. A gang of teenagers in baggy trousers watched him from the corner as he turned his way off the high street, a shifty cloud of thick smoke rising from their centre.

He turned toward the river.

Why he had chosen to apparate so far from the house, he was not entirely sure. Perhaps he had thought the walk would ease the mixture of rage and grief he felt in returning to the cesspool of misery. If so, he had been wrong. Each step only grew the tumult.

Mr Evans' little practice was shuttered now, a sign overhead suggesting it opened in mid-afternoon and dealt in questionable film instead. It sent another dull pang through his chest to see it. Her house, mercifully, he need not pass on this masochistic stroll. The embankments would shield it, if he kept his current course.

Along the bridge, now… through the park…

That roundabout was still there, then. Rusted and chipped with the years.

The mill. It's crumbling edifice had been marred further with paint – a decade's worth, or more, of Muggle hoodlum art. He wondered that the government still allowed the blight to stand… but perhaps the Muggle authorities cared as little as he for this forgotten hole in their world.

The street…

Each house just the same. In dire need of repair, or perhaps just a total tear-down. He walked right to the end of the lane, where the shabbiest of all stood.

Their names were still on the letter slot. Rubbed nearly away, though the only post that could have gone through in many years, he was sure, were those from the law or the debtors.

He used the Muggle key.

The interior was dark, dusty, and slightly damp with midsummer and the river's constant mist. Severus tried the switch along the wall, but it seemed his father had not bothered with the electric costs while he'd been languishing in hospital. He flicked his wand to light the lamps instead. Several insects, and something that looked nastily like a mouse, scurried away from the sudden brightness.

It was fifteen years since his last visit… yet the house was even less changed than the village whence it sat. The same threadbare carpet ran the length of the front hall and darkened corridor. The same dusty photographs – all Muggle, and all ancient – lined the walls: Eileen's attempt at homemaking in a home irreparably broken. Severus and his father did not share one frame after his fifth birthday. He conjured a box from the air, and flicked his wand at two or three frames that showed his mother's face. The rest, he vanished.

One task down.

He left the box in the corridor, making his way through to the tiny kitchen. Tobias had left takeaway on the counter, predictably. The contents had rotted beyond recognition in the passing weeks. Severus vanished these too, and the innards of the fridge and pantry. He gave one scathing look at the stockpile of spirits, before vanishing them as well. Most of the plates and cutlery he left. Tobias had never been much of a cook. The pots and saucepans looked as though they had not been touched since his mother's death.

Two down.

The sitting room was harder. Severus hated it all – from the moulding armchair where his father had lit cigarette after cigarette as he drank himself into oblivion, to the hearth he had refused to connect to the Floo, to the shabby telly Tobias must have bought himself when he finally had the house on his own. He wanted to blast it all to pieces.

But Dumbledore would not like that. Dumbledore, to whom Severus had foolishly confided his plans for Spinners End… Dumbledore did not share Severus' desire to burn it down. Dumbledore wanted it kept; maintained. He thought it would be useful. He thought Severus should have somewhere outside of Hogwarts to call 'home'. After all, he could hardly entertain Death Eater callers in his quarters at the castle. He could hardly be seen to live at Dumbledore's skirts. The Dark Lord would be suspicious… and Severus would face enough suspicion, as things already stood.

So the house would become a façade, like most of Severus Snape's life would soon become. Another piece of window dressing. Another prop for the perfect play. The mummer's cottage,

And the worst part was, Severus knew the headmaster was right. Albus always was.

He snorted in disgust.

The sitting room for last, then. That would suit. It would need the most improvement, anyhow… if it was to be where he received unsavoury callers.

He ascended to the first floor instead.

The master bedroom he emptied without considering. There was nothing in here he wanted to touch, or even see. It was here his father had lain his head each night – or, at least, the nights he'd managed to toddle up the steps. It was here Eileen had died. He could not bear to enter. So he vanished from the threshold, and turned away.

The smaller room across the corridor he intended to give the same treatment. As he pushed the creaky door ajar, however, a flash of white stayed his hand.

The piano.

 _'You always did like to play…'_

Severus froze with his wand aloft.

On the whole, the room was almost entirely unchanged from the last time Severus had set foot inside – the night his mother had died. Longer, perhaps. The walls still bore his defiantly plastered Slytherin banners and several clippings from _The Daily Prophet_. His old trunk sat perched in a corner, probably still holding the books he'd deemed useless when he'd taken his leave. A few stained phials and a broken set of scales peeked out of the dusty cauldron by the radiator. The single bed was still made up with the same faded quilt his grandmother had sewn him all those years before. Her picture, and Eileen's, and Lily's, still adorned the nightstand.

And along the far wall, just under the window, the shabby upright stood.

He had not expected it to be here. In truth, he had not given much thought at all to his father's comment… though, if he had, he would have anticipated the handed down instrument would rest in the sitting room below. That his father had moved it up here was curious. It would have taken effort. Even as old and battered as the instrument was, it would have been immensely heavy to move with Muggle means. He would have had to have help – probably hired, as Severus doubted Tobias had been on terms with any of the neighbours. He had done it deliberately – put it here, in Severus' room. As if he expected his wayward son might someday return to play. A gift… perhaps. An offering. Much more than he'd ever given before Severus had fled in the first place.

A part of him wanted to vanish this too. How dare he do such a thing… now, when it was far too late. How dare he leave it here for his son to find. He wanted nothing from this man – alive or dead.

But as he took the step forward, his wand hand twitching, something moved in the corner of his vision.

Her.

Hers was the only magical photograph. Eileen's and his grandmother's had been taken with their Muggle camera, developed in this world to which they had not belonged. But hers was different.

He'd taken it himself – out by the lake, on one of the last fine week-ends of their third year autumn term. The camera had been her birthday gift the previous January. He'd aimed it when he thought she'd been tickling the squid – when she shouldn't have been looking. But she'd turned at the last moment, and she'd known. Perhaps she'd always known.

She smiled sweetly at him now – a girl of just thirteen, but already beautiful. Her pose was playful; her hair loose and long as it swung behind her. Her emerald eyes, as they found his soulless black ones, danced in the way that still made his heart ache… frozen in a better time.

 _This_ was how he always wanted to remember them. Before their gaze had darkened with suspicion, and disappointment, and hurt. Before they danced only for another.

Before they were ripped away, and doomed to haunt him forever from his enemy's face.

He approached the bench – felt the faded velvet with a long-fingered hand. The keylid was pushed back already, its ivory treasures exposed to the dust. Of course his father had not bothered to preserve it. He blew, hard, down the length of the piano, ridding the worst of the dust; forgetting the wand that might have done the job more neatly.

The melody came easier than he would have expected – muscle memory, he supposed. The instrument was badly out of tune, and several of the keys stuck. Their notes lingered… connecting the measures and making the song more eerie than sweet. He played it through all the same, breaking his self-imposed ban. Just this once.

But when the song was over, her eyes still danced. And he decided, perhaps, he would keep this present after all.

He'd been longer than he intended, by the time he'd chosen what he wanted from his former room and banished the rest to nonbeing. It was well past midday, and he was tired.

And still – he had the worst room yet to face.

Nobody had ever used this bedroom. When he was small, his mother had told him it was for 'guests'… or perhaps, one day, a little brother or sister. But there had never been another. Severus had sometimes lamented this. He had always been alone… until Lily. As a teenager and now as an adult, however, he was exceedingly grateful his parents had stopped at one. And he was equally certain Eileen had done so on purpose. They had never had guests either. Severus had hardly been inclined to have a friend to stay – even supposing he might have had one who would come. Eileen and Tobias had never socialised. They rarely spoke to extended family. As such, the spare room had lain empty and neglected.

Now, it was an attic in all but name. He coughed as he pushed open the door – the dust was thicker here than anywhere else in the house. This time, he used a spell to clear it.

All her things had fit into six boxes: labelled in Tobias' untidy scrawl. He must have done this himself; for Severus had fled the moment the service ended.

As with the piano, Severus was surprised. The parcels were not merely labelled… they were indexed – the top of each cardboard lid inscribed with the contents within. Curious, he conjured a stool for himself and pulled the nearest one closer.

This one held clothing. Muggle, mostly, but he found several old-fashioned sets of robes near the base. It was nearly all second-hand; much of it moth-bitten or threadbare. Even charity would probably turn their nose at its state, should he try to donate it. Severus picked up a pinny, running his hand along the stained paisley pattern. He could see her in it still… every night, as she scrounged about for something for supper. His fingers traced the familiar marred fabric; the imprints of his childhood. The long scorch mark she'd put in the righthand pocket the day she'd let the oil heat too long… the rounded cigarette burn Tobias had left when he'd been flailing about after his football team finished last in the league… the faded violet splotch, from when she'd brewed Dreamless Sleep in the pantry before Severus had mastered Occlumency. So many years ago; and yet, when he pressed the worn fabric to his face, he could still detect a hint of her scent.

He set the pinny aside, and banished the box.

The next one was smaller – all personal things. He felt a slight sense of embarrassment entering the box at all… even though his mother was long dead. Her sewing kit lay on top, and her wand – still intact. Tobias had refused to bury it with her. It had caused a bitter shouting match. Severus had always assumed his father had destroyed it. He lifted it carefully, feeling the thrum of awakening magic. It was not a fit for him… but he would keep it all the same.

Below the wand he found, to further shock, that Tobias had wrapped all her jewellery individually in cloth. She had not had much, but Severus would have expected Tobias to pawn what he could. He set each piece aside into a conjured pouch. He would not leave them in the house.

Beneath the jewellery, there were two hatboxes. Severus reached down to lift the first. Unexpectedly, it rattled. He set the box on his lap, flicking the lid ajar.

Inside were dozens of photographs – Muggle and Wizarding alike. He picked up the first stack, flicking through. Some, he recognised. Others – especially the ones that moved – he did not.

The Wizarding photographs were the oldest, he realised quickly. Most were from Eileen's own childhood. He recognised his grandparents in several, and an austere-looking older boy who rather resembled himself. His uncle, perhaps – Eileen's older brother who had left for America before he'd been born. They had never met. Severus did not even know if he was still alive.

There were some from Hogwarts, as she must have known it. A portly man Severus saw at once to be a young Horace Slughorn… a tall, auburn-haired wizard he would recognise in any crowd… the Hogwarts Gobstones Club his mother had co-founded… the Slytherin prefects lined up against the common room hearth – a handsome young wizard who seemed vaguely familiar smirking from the centre.

He flicked past. Beneath, the Wizarding photographs extended beyond Eileen's school years. There was the apothecary in Diagon Alley, where he knew she'd had her first job. His parents, on what appeared to be their wedding day. He had never seen his father move so lightly in life, nor look quite so at peace. Gone was the paunch, the lame leg, the constant haze of drink and smoke. Tobias Snape was gazing at his wife with nothing but adoration – sweeping her in and out of the camera lens. His mother's cheeks were flushed, her smile wide and unburdened. They looked… happy. As he made to flip past, he saw an inscription – written in faded blue ink on the back by his mother's careful hand.

 _Lena and Toby, 1951._

This, he supposed, was the Tobias that Eileen had always spoken of – the man she could not let go of, no matter how utterly he had changed. The man Severus had never known.

The pictures went Muggle shortly thereafter, and several years had clearly passed. Severus stopped at the first still photograph of a sulky baby. He did not need to go any further. He knew the history, from this point on. Living it once had been enough.

Severus shut the hatboxes, placing them carefully back inside their labelled cardboard box… anger surging in his stomach again.

All at once, he needed out of this place.

He swept back down the stairs, back into the sitting room. Tobias' echo was so thick in here, he might have thought his ghost had returned… if he had not known since the age of seven that Muggles could not choose that path. He growled aloud, staring around at the accoutrements of the life Tobias had led; the father he had never been.

With a snarl, he brought his wand slashing through the air, tearing a gaping hole through the fabric of the recliner. The grimy floor was peppered with bits of clotted cotton and shreds of faded burgundy that still stank of stale smoke.

He slashed again. This time, some of the framing joined the cushioning. The chair began to collapse in on itself – its sturdy back destroyed.

Again and again he slashed. Again and again, pieces of his father's world destroyed the room. Severus did not stop until the chair was naught but scuffed-up pedestals. Then he pointed his wand at the television, and smashed it into oblivion as well.

He stared around when at last he'd finished, breathing heavily, surrounded by the wreckage. He could feel the sting on his forearms and cheeks where pieces of the exploding telly had sliced into him – but he let them lie.

Dumbledore would not have thought this wise. But then, Dumbledore had not had to live here. Dumbledore did not understand. And when Severus had finished taking his small vengeance, he could sort the rest to rights.

A burst of light brought him from his musings.

No, not light, he realised, as he looked up… fire.

The flame faded almost as soon as it ignited, leaving a golden feather to flutter to the floor. Severus recognised it. He picked his way past a few shards of chair leg and bent to retrieve the feather from the floor, noticing as he did so that Fawkes' signal had come with a scroll. The headmaster's loopy handwriting greeted him as he unfurled the missive. It was rather lengthy – which, he supposed, explained the preference for the phoenix over a Patronus.

Severus read the scroll through quickly – curiosity becoming irritation as he finished. With another snarl of fury, he crumpled the message up and hurled it at the hearth, flicking his wand to kindle the remnants.

He would have loved dearly to ignore it.

But that, alas, had not been an option for fourteen years.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry did not hear the knock at the door.

He was down at the shore again, having another lesson with Sirius. In fact, he did not even notice the new arrival until Remus appeared in the middle of the rickety staircase, waving at the two of them to come in from the sea.

Laughing, Harry pushed a huge splash at Sirius before turning for the shore; ducking under the water one last time before his godfather could retaliate.

Remus was crossing the sand as they left the waves. He tossed a towel at each of them.

'What's the rush?' Sirius asked, his voice slightly muffled from the terrycloth he was rubbing vigorously over his head. 'We can't be nearing supper yet.'

'We have a visitor,' Remus explained. He was smiling, but Harry could read something behind his eyes.

'Who –' he began to ask, but his question was answered for him.

With a swoop of horror, Harry recognised the black figure standing at the top of the staircase; looking down upon the scene on the beach like a hungry wraith, robes billowing in the breeze off the sea. Even from this distance, Harry was sure he could discern a scowl on the familiar, hook-nosed face.

' _Snape_?' Harry asked unnecessarily, dismay in his voice. ' _Snape_ came calling?'

'Harry…' Remus began, warning in his tone.

But Sirius was on Harry's side. 'What's _he_ doing here?' he demanded with just as much indignation. 'Has Dumbledore brought him?'

'Albus has not yet returned,' Remus said. 'But if you'll just come up, we can –'

'I'm not going,' Sirius insisted. 'Tell him to bugger off. He can come back when Albus –'

'He has not come to see Albus,' Remus clarified. 'Or, apparently, not for Albus alone. He insists upon seeing Harry.'

'Me?' Harry asked, irritation growing. 'Why has he come for _me_?'

Remus smiled. 'I am sure he will explain more fully himself,' he said gently. 'Come on now.'

He turned for the staircase and Harry, begrudgingly, followed – Sirius still muttering darkly as he brought up the rear. Snape had not moved from his stance at the top. He was glaring down at the three of them as they trudged up the steps, and Harry was sure watching them play in the waves had been quite painful for the Potions Master.

'Some time this afternoon, Potter,' Snape said waspishly as they climbed the last few stairs. 'I do not have the time to entertain your lethargy today.'

'This is not your castle,' Sirius volleyed back with just as much venom. 'You don't give orders here. Especially to Harry.'

'I was under the impression this was not _your_ home either, Black,' Snape returned silkily. 'Potter is my student, and I will order him as I see fit.'

Sirius had pulled them to a halt on the staircase a few steps below Snape. Though his godfather was a bit taller than the professor on level ground, Snape towered above them at this angle. Harry didn't like it.

'He's not in your classroom now,' Sirius retorted, putting a hand firmly on Harry's shoulder. 'And he's _my_ godson.'

'But not your ward,' Snape reminded him. His tone suggested delicacy, but Harry knew the effect was truly adopted to wound. 'Decisions for his welfare are not yours to make, Black, as no doubt the headmaster has explained to you…'

'Severus,' Remus interrupted. He had a hand on Sirius' opposite arm, and Harry noticed the fingers were clenched tightly. Snape removed his glare from Sirius to look at Lupin, but held his tongue from further insult.

'Why have you come, professor?' Harry asked – partially out of curiosity, and partly to stop a row.

'It is Thursday afternoon, Potter,' Snape replied smoothly. 'It is time for your lesson.'

Harry felt his jaw drop. 'My lesson?' he repeated thickly. 'But… I'm on minibreak. I haven't any lessons that –'

'You have lessons if I say you do, 'Snape interrupted. 'And the headmaster is in agreement.'

Harry's jaw was still open. For a moment, he could think of nothing to say.

'As amusing and rather gratifying as it is to watch you stammer in silence,' Snape mocked, 'I do have a timetable of my own to keep. If your dear _godfather_ would release you, you will change out of those ridiculous things at once and return in five minutes ready to start.'

'Hang on!' Sirius said angrily. 'He's not going with you. Especially if Albus is not here to –'

'Albus will be returning shortly,' Snape said, glaring at Sirius again. 'And Potter and I will be working on the property. I have explained the situation to the wolf already. He can, ah… fill you in.'

'I'm not –'

'Sirius,' Remus said, giving him a significant look that Harry did not miss.

Sirius ground his teeth. Remus turned to Harry.

'Go on up and change, Harry,' Remus said with a nod up the staircase. 'Severus will meet you on the veranda when you are ready.'

Harry looked between Remus and Sirius both, but neither offered him an out. With a sigh, he climbed the last few steps. Snape stepped sideways to let him pass. Harry glanced curiously back at the three of them as he shut the door into the cottage… but Snape had a charm flicked at it before he could even attempt to eavesdrop on what was clearly a heated conversation.

Annoyed, he stomped through the sitting room and up the staircase to the smallest bedroom in the rear of the house, hoping his still wet trunks were leaving nice salty puddles in his wake. He was furious. With Snape, for appearing in the middle of what was promising to be a fun afternoon. With Sirius and Remus, for going along with him (though admittedly with rancour, in Sirius' case at least). With Albus, for apparently consenting to this nasty shock when Harry was _supposed_ to be on holiday for once. And with the lot of them – for clearly keeping it all from him.

He was in half a mind not to return at all… but Snape had granted him five minutes. Harry was not fool enough to suppose that the Potions Master would not yank him back down by the earlobe, if he did not reappear in the allotted time.

So instead, he towelled off his hair, pulled on a pair of blue jeans and a cotton shirt, and stomped back down the steps once more.

Sirius and Remus had come inside by the time he returned. They were huddled together in a corner of the sitting room, but they broke off their rushed conversation as Harry entered. He looked between them, suspicious. Sirius no longer appeared miffed. Instead, there was an apprehension in his gaze that was not entirely hidden by the forced smile.

'He's waiting on the veranda,' Remus nudged, nodding toward the door. 'We'll see you in an hour or so.'

'Is everything alright?' Harry asked, still looking at Sirius. 'Has something happened?'

Sirius shook his head. 'Everything's fine,' he assured him. 'We'll have tea ready when you get back.'

Harry nodded, not altogether reassured. But he could see Snape glaring through the window with his trademark impatience, and he hastened to join him.

'Your continual tendency to sloth grates on my tenuous nerves, Potter,' Snape complained by way of greeting.

Harry scowled. 'Too true,' he muttered under his breath.

Not low enough.

'Ten points from Gryffindor,' Snape said smoothly.

Harry glared. 'We aren't in school,' he pointed out. 'You can't –'

'I assure you, I will remember,' Snape said nastily. 'And if you continue the impertinence, I will make it fifty.'

Harry held his retort with difficulty. He was fairly certain Snape was bluffing… but he would recruit Minerva's assistance later, just in case.

'What do you want me to do, sir?' he asked sulkily instead.

Snape sneered. 'At the moment,' he answered, 'You will follow me.'

He swept toward the staircase. Harry followed, caught somewhat off guard. He rather expected they'd be working in the house, or on the veranda at the farthest… Snape did not seem the type for the beach.

He followed the Potions Master all the way down, and off to the right into the sand. Harry struggled to keep up, and marvelled that Snape could walk so quickly in his boots. He refused, however, to ask Snape to slow.

They walked for ages, until Harry found himself growing winded with the effort of trudging through the sand. The tide was quite low now, and the sand at the top of the beach had been drying all day in the sun. It was difficult to keep any sort of pace.

They rounded a bend, and suddenly the cottage was hidden from view by the cliff face.

'Where are you taking me, sir?' Harry demanded, slightly breathless. 'I thought you told Remus and Sirius we'd be on the property?'

'How far does this property extend, Potter?' Snape countered.

Harry shrugged. Then, realising Snape had not turned from his walk, he answered aloud: 'I don't know, sir.'

Snape gave an impatient huff. 'It is nearly a mile in this direction,' he told him. 'We will not be going beyond.'

'I can't even see the –'

Harry stopped short, an unease beginning to solidify in his chest.

Snape had apparently heard his pause. He whirled, a familiar pique etched in his expression. 'What now?' he demanded.

Harry glared. 'I followed you out of sight once before,' he pointed out. 'Another time I was away from the castle…'

Snape huffed irritably again. 'I am not an impersonator, Potter.'

'How do I _know_?' Harry insisted. 'It's not like you would tell me if you were.'

Snape gave him a calculating once-over. 'Fine,' he relented. 'You may ask one question, Potter. Perhaps it will be good practise.'

Harry wracked his brains, trying to think of something only Snape could know.

'A few nights ago, you gave me something to help me sleep,' he said. 'What was it?'

'Essence of Lavender,' Snape answered at once.

'Why?' Harry asked. 'Why did you know it would work?'

Snape glared. 'One question,' he reminded him. 'Move.'

Harry did not, and Snape whirled again two steps farther on. 'Potter…'

'Well, what if whoever took your appearance knows that too? What if he tortured it out of you, or something?'

Snape smirked. 'Entirely possible,' he admitted. 'And you should remember it. Nothing is beyond suspicion. But you are forgetting the most obvious solution, Potter.'

Harry frowned. Snape's smirk widened tauntingly.

'How is this property protected?'

'Dumbledore,' Harry said. 'They're his wards, or something.'

'Precisely,' Snape agreed. 'And how do wards work, Potter?'

Harry scowled. 'I can't answer that,' he protested. 'All wards are different, aren't they? I don't know exactly what –'

'All wards are different, yes,' Snape interrupted. 'But those that work to protect a location – to allow access only by those keyed into their protection – share one common factor. They operate by connection to the permitted individual's Magical Core.'

'But if someone were to use Polyjuice –'

'Then it would prove entirely ineffectual,' Snape finished for him. 'Charms, Transfiguration, even Polyjuice Potion… none can alter the Magical Core. Appearance can be entirely mimicked. Voice, mannerisms and customs can be copied. It is even possible to mask a magical signature. But to alter it entirely – to take on the Magic of another… this cannot be done. Magic is individual, and the Core is unique.'

'But… if that's true,' Harry argued. 'Then why aren't wards like the one the headmaster used here used more often? Why is the Fidelius Charm needed?'

'While such wards cannot be fooled, they can be broken,' Snape warned. 'Even the Fidelius Charm, as you know. The Charm is advantageous in that the Secret is concealed within a living being – and thus the ward cannot be disabled by removal of the object from whence it draws its protection. Nor can the individual protecting the Secret be tricked or magicked into revealing it.'

Harry stared. Snape turned, continuing the walk – and Harry knew the conversation was at a close.

Luckily, it was not much farther before Snape brought them to a halt again, this time at the edge of a little embankment. Below, Harry saw the beach grew much rockier, and deep indentations suggested caves in the bluff. Here, the shore was peppered with little pools of water. Snape nodded toward them.

'What should I do?' Harry asked, confused.

Snape did not answer at once. Instead, he led the way toward the nearest pool. He looked in, and Harry followed suit.

It was fascinating. Deeper than he imagined, the little pool was nearly crystal clear, the surface unmarred by the currents of the nearby sea. The sand and rocks about the edge were damp, and Harry supposed that the little pool probably joined the ocean at higher tides. Inside, it teemed with creatures and plants. Harry had never seen so much marine life this up-close before. Dudley had been to the aquarium in London twice – once for his seventh birthday and once when their Year Four class had gone… but the Dursleys had never allowed Harry to join. He imagined it would have looked like this. Various tiny fish flitted about, trapped in their miniature world. The rocks along the edges and base were covered in seaweeds and shellfish, and Harry could see several crabs slinking between hideaways.

Entranced, he leaned in closer… but Snape caught him roughly by the arm.

'Not this one,' he said, pulling Harry back.

He made instead for a second pool, slightly closer to the edge of the sea. This one was larger than the first, though it did not appear quite so deep.

'What are they?' Harry asked, creeping closer to the edge of their new destination.

'Rockpools,' Snape answered. 'Also called tidepools. A name, as even you must have deduced, that derives from their existence only when the tide of the sea is sufficiently low.'

Harry watched a spiny-looking fish meander between two rocks in wonder. His fascinated musing, however, was interrupted by the soft flump of several large buckets, appearing out of nowhere on the beach beside him. He stared from the buckets to Snape.

'Er… what is it I'm supposed to be doing, this lesson?' he asked.

Snape gave another of his mirthless smirks. 'Foraging.'

Harry frowned. 'This is supposed to be a wandless magic lesson,' he pointed out.

'Is it?' Snape challenged. 'I do not recall saying as much. You will be retrieving specimens from the pool. Cerastoderma edule, to be precise. Also known as the common cockle.'

'I'm not in detention,' Harry pointed out. He wanted to add that perhaps, if Snape had intended to send him into rockpools, he ought to have allowed him to keep his trunks on… but he did not wish to try Snape's temper this far from potential assistance.

'Not today,' Snape agreed. 'Which is why, Potter, we will be doing both. Hand me your wand.'

Harry reached reluctantly into his pocket, and passed Snape the holly and phoenix feather wand. Snape slid it into his own robes. He pointed through the glassy surface of the pool, indicating a number of rounded shellfish.

'These are what you will be gathering,' he said. 'As your Summoning Charm is still well below par even with the verbal incantation, this should be an excellent opportunity to improve. No words, Potter. I want both buckets filled before the end of the hour.'

Harry scowled. His Summoning Charm _was_ still weak in its wandless form. Truthfully, he even sometimes struggled _with_ his wand. Trust Snape to take him somewhere fascinating, then promptly throw a spanner into the experience.

He tried several times – focusing as hard as he could on the nearest cockle. It could not have been more than a foot under the surface… but it would not even twitch in his direction.

Snape made a predictable noise of contempt. 'You have been working this spell for nearly a year now,' he pointed out.

'I'm trying,' Harry growled, attempting the charm again. 'I can't help it that it's –'

'You _can_ help it,' Snape disagreed, stepping closer to the edge of the pool. 'You are inadequately _focusing_ , Potter.'

He thrust a hand into his robes, pulling out Harry's wand. For one wild second, Harry thought he was about to give it over… and then, with a careless flick, he tossed it high into the air. Harry watched in shock and anger as it spun over the water, before breaking the surface at the centre of the pool and disappearing into its depths.

'Are you _mad_?' he asked angrily, whirling on Snape. He kicked off his shoes, ready to plunge – but Snape yanked him back.

'Motivation, Potter,' he said silkily. 'Retrieve the wand, and I shall allow you to use it to fill the second bucket. Fail to do so… and I shall keep you here to try until the tide returns to carry it off.'

Harry was seething. Snape released his arm and promptly wandered away, inspecting several of the other rockpools. Harry had half a mind to wade in after his wand and damn Snape's orders… but he also knew Snape would merely toss it again. Snape's threats were rarely idle.

But twenty minutes in, and he had still managed nothing.

' _Accio_ ,' he shouted mentally for the umpteenth time, focusing his energy on the middle of the salty pool.

Nothing happened. Snape was such a git.

' _Accio_!' he tried again, forcing more energy into the spell.

This time, the surface rippled slightly. But other than the suddenly darting minnows, Harry saw nothing stir beneath the water. He growled aloud.

If he didn't manage it soon, he'd be stuck with no wand, empty buckets, and a furious Potions Master. Not to mention that he'd _definitely_ be kept here all night… or, at least, until Albus returned.

He could not _believe_ Snape had thrown his wand away. _His_ wand. _His_ magic. Mocking him… to show him his own mediocrity…

' _ACCIO!_ '

A huge, darkened mass burst through the water, splashing Harry head to toe and causing Snape – several pools away now – to turn at his cry of surprise. Harry ducked before the slimy blob could slap him in the face, letting it plop onto the sand, and saw the holly tip poking out the end.

Trust Snape to chuck his wand into a pile of seaweed.

Still, at least he had finally done it. He bent, brushing the seaweed aside with his forearm as he reached to unearth the wand, ignoring some snide comment he could hear from Snape in the distance…

Only to find that the gooey orange mass was _not_ seaweed at all.

He leapt back with a howl of pain.

The professor was there in an instant, shouting.

'Idiot boy!' he snarled, forcing him several steps farther back. 'Do you _ever_ listen?'

'It stung me!' Harry said, in as much surprise as anything else. 'What the bloody –'

'Only you, Potter,' Snape griped, 'Would manage to summon the lion's mane.' He flicked his own wand irritably at the jellyfish, which tumbled through the air and back into its home.

Harry, distracted with his entire arm aflame, did not even stoop to answer the jibe.

'Don't rub it, you fool!' Snape barked, catching Harry's left hand before he did just that. 'The tentacles leave microscopic stingers behind. If you press the skin, you release additional toxin.'

'Great,' Harry growled between clenched teeth. 'Maybe if my _wand_ hadn't been in the middle of the ocean –'

'Do not be dramatic, Potter,' Snape lectured. Holding Harry's arm by the elbow, he conjured some sort of bottle from the air. He tipped the lot over the sting, twisting the arm to rinse it thoroughly.

Harry wrinkled his nose. 'It smells like vinegar.'

'Astute observation,' Snape mocked. 'As that is precisely the recommended treatment for such circumstance.'

Harry, who did not feel much reduction in the burning, was starting to lose his patience. 'Isn't there a potion that will clear it?' he asked pointedly.

'Certainly there is,' Snape agreed. 'But it will do nothing if the stingers remain, and I do not carry it on my person.' He vanished the empty bottle, and conjured a steaming flannel instead. 'Hold that over your arm,' he commanded. 'And sit.'

Harry flumped down onto the rocky shore, irritated beyond belief. At least, it did seem that Snape had decided Harry no longer had to complete the lesson… as he was using the time to gather the cockles himself. Rather than summoning them wandlessly as he had told Harry to do, Snape merely pointed his own wand at the pool, muttering some low string of words that caused streams of cockles to burst the surface, toppling over each other to fill the buckets in under ten minutes. When the Potions Master had finished that task, he headed back to the rockpool he'd been perusing when Harry had gone into crisis. He picked up the bucket he'd left there, and carried it to join its brothers at Harry's side.

He stooped, muttering a cleansing charm at Harry's own wand, and held it out for him.

'What if it damaged it?' Harry fretted, trying to feel along the wand for any injury with his lesser hand.

'Do not be ridiculous,' Snape scoffed. 'Wands are not so easily trifled with.'

He crouched down, removing the compress from the sting and considering the reddened skin. He summoned a second bottle of vinegar, repeated the rinse, and placed a freshened flannel back on.

'Fifteen more minutes,' he said in answer to Harry's gaze. 'But we can begin the journey back.'

He charmed the buckets to float behind them as Harry scrambled clumsily to his feet. Harry glanced into the third, momentarily drawn from his ire as he realised what it contained.

'Is that an octopus?' he asked, watching the creature's colour deepen from sandy to a nearly-scarlet orange.

'A curled octopus, yes,' Snape agreed as he began his rapid pace again. 'Smaller in size than the common octopus, but its ink is far more useful. A fortuitous discovery.'

'What do you use the ink for?' Harry asked, struggling to keep in Snape's wake.

'It is commonly used in aging potions, and certain beautification products,' the professor replied. 'It is also central to Sinus Solution and several paranasal remedies.'

He lapsed into silence again, and Harry did not break it. The skin of his forearm was not burning quite so terribly now… but it was starting to itch.

They had nearly reached the steps at the base of the cottage before Snape stopped again, turning to face him this time. He scrutinised Harry's face.

'Do you have any dizziness, headache or nausea?'

'No.'

'Stick out your tongue,' Snape demanded.

Harry complied. Snape nodded, looking satisfied. He took Harry's arm again.

'The pain is less than it was?' he inquired.

'A bit,' Harry agreed. 'It's itching like mad though…'

'Not an atypical reaction,' Snape said, unwinding the cloth. 'And as you are not showing signs of an allergy, I can heal it now.'

Harry frowned. 'You said you didn't have the potion on you,' he accused.

'I did,' Snape agreed as he pulled his wand. 'I did not, however, indicate that a potion was necessary to cure such an injury. The lion's mane is not a deadly jellyfish, and the vinegar and heat ought to have drawn out latent stingers at this point. A charm should do just as well.'

He muttered an incantation, tracing the tip of his wand along the scarlet welts. Instantly, Harry felt his skin return to normal as the marks receded.

'Thanks,' he said, only a bit resentfully.

Snape nodded stiffly in reply. He sent the octopus bucket up the staircase ahead of them with a further flick of his wand.

'You can carry the others,' he said over his shoulder, following his prize up the steps. 'As you were no assistance in their retrieval.'

Harry groaned as he followed the instruction, griping the heavy buckets in each hand.

'And what are these used for?' he griped as he climbed behind the professor.

'They have little use in magic,' Snape admitted. 'But they are Albus' favourite dish.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Remus tidied the kitchen hastily, not sure how much time they had. He could hear Sirius in the sitting room, but had no illusions that he was attempting to assist.

'I don't like it,' Sirius said, appearing at the entryway. 'I can't see them.'

'Severus would not do anything to hurt Harry,' Remus said calmly, and not for the first time. 'Tidy up in there, won't you? They'll be here any moment.'

'I'm not sure about _that_ , either,' Sirius groused, his voice now a bit muffled as he obeyed the request. 'The Ministry…'

'Is not coming,' Remus assured him. He sent the last of the teacups back to its hook, and left to join Sirius in the white room. 'Kingsley Shacklebolt is a good man. I met him when he came by the castle after the incident at the Quidditch match. It was thanks to him that Albus learned of the Ministry and the Dementors' arrival in the grounds last month. Were it not for his intervention, the headmaster may have returned too late. If the Dementors had returned and found Harry while he was unconscious…'

'I suppose,' Sirius grumbled uncharitably. 'But he can't trust him entirely, can he? Or he wouldn't have arranged for Harry go off with Snape.'

Remus sank onto the sofa, raising an eyebrow. 'That is not why I envisioned Albus had Harry pulled away,' he said.

Sirius joined him. 'Why, then?'

'I expect he wishes to –'

A knock on the door interrupted them. Sirius jumped up as though he'd been electrified.

'Maybe… I should wait in the kitchen,' he suggested, already bounding out of the room.

Remus let him go. He walked to the door to the cottage, peering through the keyhole. He found not only Albus and Kingsley on the threshold, but Minerva as well.

'Come in,' he invited, turning the handle. 'Mr Shacklebolt – a pleasure to see you again.'

'Kingsley, please,' the man insisted in a deep voice.

'Remus.'

He shifted aside so the group could pass. Albus gave him an inquiring look. 'In the kitchen,' Remus explained.

'Ah,' Albus said, nodding. 'Sirius, would you join us, please?'

Sirius slunk out into the hall, looking apprehensive. Kingsley's reaction was predictable. He drew his wand in an instant, turning slightly so he was facing the others with his back against the wall. He glared distrustfully between Sirius and Albus.

'What is the meaning of this?' he demanded, his voice booming in his anger. 'What is going on here, Dumbledore?'

Albus stepped between Kingsley and Sirius, his palms out. He held no wand, but Remus knew he did not need weaponry to command the situation.

'Kingsley,' the headmaster said calmly, his eyes twinkling slightly. 'I do not believe you have met Sirius Black.'

'Really, Albus,' Minerva scoffed. Sirius hid what was clearly a chuckle, and Remus clenched a hand over his wrist in warning.

Kingsley's jaw did not relax. Nor did he drop his wand. 'You spring this on me, Dumbledore,' he said slowly. 'You insist the time has come to hear some grand scheme… you come to my office, lead me away with cryptic messages… bring me _here_ … and now you parade the mass murderer all the country has been seeking for over a year before me as though he were a mere dinner guest. The murderer, I might add, who is after _your_ student, and was nearly caught a month ago in the grounds of _your_ castle –'

'I would never hurt Harry! He –'

'Sirius, a moment,' Albus cautioned.

'I have long known you to keep your secrets, headmaster,' Kingsley continued, not acknowledging Sirius' interruption. 'I have long admired your spirit, and trusted your wisdom. But I do not know you well. And you had better have an _excellent_ explanation for this one.'

'Sirius is not the man the world considers him to be,' Albus said. 'If you will sit, I shall explain everything.'

The Auror did not move. 'I would rather stand,' he insisted.

Albus sighed. 'You say that you have trusted me,' he repeated. 'And I am flattered. But if I may implore you to act on that trust just one more time, I promise you will not regret it.'

They stared at each other a long moment. Neither Sirius nor Remus spoke to interject. At last, Kingsley edged carefully into the front sitting room. He perched at the edge of an armchair, his wand still balanced ready on his knee.

'Five minutes, Dumbledore,' he said curtly.

Albus smiled. He gestured to Remus and Sirius to have a seat on the sofa, and Minerva took the chair across the table next to the Auror. The headmaster himself remained standing.

'Sirius Black is an innocent man,' he began.

'The Ministry does not think so,' Kingsley disagreed. 'Nor do the dozen witnesses who watched him blow apart a street.'

'The Ministry has been wrong before,' Albus pointed out. 'Even when it comes to seemingly obvious murders.'

There was something in the headmaster's gaze that Remus did not quite understand. It seemed to make some impression on Kingsley, however. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

'They did not have your own testimony, on that occasion,' he reminded Albus. 'You yourself gave evidence that Black had been the Potters' Secret Keeper.'

'And so I thought he had,' Albus agreed. 'But I was mistaken. I too have been known, on occasion, to err. The mass murderer – and the Potters' Secret Keeper – was Peter Pettigrew.'

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. 'A convenient scapegoat,' he said. 'Seeing as how Black saw to him as well.'

'I did not!' Sirius growled, unable to keep his silence any longer. 'I _wanted_ to, but Peter bested me. _He_ killed all those people – and then disappeared before he could take the fall.'

'Impossible,' Kingsley spat. 'There was an Anti-Apparition ward in that street. You put it there yourself, Black.'

'Peter Pettigrew was, and is, an Animagus,' Remus cut in. 'He is able to transform into a rat. That is how he escaped in Ulster, and it is how he has concealed his continued survival since.'

Kingsley looked between the group distrustfully. Remus could tell his respect for the headmaster was keeping him in the chair… but he could also see that the story appeared fantastic – perhaps ludicrous.

'Perhaps it would be easier to start at the beginning,' Albus offered.

He spoke for nearly a quarter of an hour – giving the Auror the important highlights of the twenty-year tale. Kingsley listened without interruption to the end. When Albus finished, he stroked a finger over his mouth, frowning deeply.

'Let us assume I believe this,' he said at last. 'Why tell _me_ , Dumbledore? If this is all true, why not bring the situation to the Ministry? Why not tell the _Minister_ , particularly when he was at the castle that night?'

'What do you suppose Cornelius would do?' Albus asked politely. 'When asked to take this as true on my word, and the testimony of the man he had led a public chase to recapture for nearly a year? What do you suppose he would do, faced with the possibility that Lord Voldemort's downfall did not occur in the manner he has always believed? The greater possibility that he might soon return? Do you think he would risk the public embarrassment… the mass panic?'

Kingsley leaned back in the chair with a sigh. 'Why me?'

'Because you are not as blind,' Albus said, stepping over at last to take a seat beside Minerva. 'Because you are not a man to take the path that is easiest, rather than face the perils of the path that is right. Because you have the foresight to understand what is coming, and the skill to assist in combatting it.'

'And I am in charge of the hunt for Sirius Black,' Kingsley said shrewdly. 'And you hope I can… what? Assist instead in tracking where Peter Pettigrew may have run to?'

'We do not require assistance in that regard,' Albus said quietly. 'We know where Peter has gone. He has returned to his master.'

Kingsley sat bolt upright again. 'You think… you think he has gone to _him_?'

'I know he has,' Albus corrected. 'As I know that, with Peter's assistance, Lord Voldemort _will_ rise again, Kingsley. And we shall need to be ready when he does.'

Kingsley rubbed at his mouth again. The ticking of the clock on the mantle was the only sound, for precisely thirty-eight seconds.

'Alright,' he agreed at last. 'Alright, Dumbledore. Your way. I'll help.'

Albus smiled. 'Excellent,' he said, clapping his hands together. 'Well then, I think this calls for a drink. Minnie?'

She obliged, conjuring up a bottle of fine mead and five glasses. She set the bottle pouring with a complicated wave, and each glass floated to an outstretched hand. Albus raised his, and the others followed suit – Kingsley hesitating only slightly before clinking his against Sirius' at the centre of the group.

'Welcome, Mr Shacklebolt,' Albus toasted, 'To the Order of the Phoenix.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'So, what can be done at the moment?' Kingsley asked, two glasses of mead later. 'If you know where Pettigrew and You Know Who –'

'Voldemort,' Albus corrected. 'You must learn to call him by his proper name.'

'Voldemort,' Kingsley agreed, without even a flinch. 'If you know where they are, then we ought to send people after them. Perhaps there is a way to –'

'There is nothing that might come of it,' Albus said sadly. 'Not at this stage. Even if they are still where we last believed them to be… Voldemort has no physical form, and thus he cannot be defeated.'

'Well that's not precisely true,' Sirius disagreed, frowning. 'He has some sort of body now, doesn't he? We know from Harry's –'

Remus clenched down tightly on his arm yet again, and Minerva coughed pointedly. But Kingsley did not miss the exchange. His expression darkened.

'We believe he has managed to obtain some rudimentary form,' Albus clarified. 'But there are other magics at play. At the moment, he cannot be conquered. We can hope to delay his return, of course, and we shall work that angle. But I am equally concerned with ensuring we are prepared for what happens afterward.'

'How can you be sure he is coming back?' Kingsley asked reasonably. 'If we were to capture or kill Peter Pettigrew, he would not have assistance. Surely, that is the best way forward.'

'Cheers,' Sirius grumbled.

'It is not quite that simple,' Albus disagreed. 'First of all, I doubt very much that Voldemort will stay in his secluded place on the continent now that Pettigrew has joined him. He will seek to return to this country, if he has not done so already. And while I certainly agree that we should work to find both Voldemort and Pettigrew, I believe it would be foolish to assume eliminating Pettigrew will eliminate the threat. Pettigrew is but one servant; and Voldemort has always been resourceful. He _will_ return, with or without Pettigrew's assistance.'

'So what do we _do_?' Sirius asked, frustrated.

'At the moment, we continue what we _are_ doing,' said Albus. 'We keep our eyes and ears open, we search, we learn… and we prepare for what will come. Kingsley,' he turned back to the Auror. 'With Alastor retired, we have lost our strongest Order presence at the Ministry. That is the role I need you to fill. And I cannot promise it will be an easy assignment. We need additional recruits… but it will require great discretion and reliance on instinct. We will need assistance in keeping Sirius' freedom intact. And, of course, we will need tabs on the Minister's position – particularly if things disintegrate. It may put you in a precarious place…'

'I can handle it,' Kingsley assured him. 'I have been walking their tightrope for years.'

Albus nodded. 'Good,' he said simply.

'But one thing I don't understand,' Kingsley continued, leaning in a bit. He was looking at Sirius now. 'You said you knew of Voldemort's form from Harry Potter. But Harry –'

'Is here,' Remus cut in, uncrossing his legs as he caught sight of Severus on the veranda through the back windows.

'Already?' Minerva fretted, climbing off her chair. She glanced at the clock. 'Goodness, we've been longer than I thought.'

'Here?' Kingsley repeated, looking puzzled. 'I don't –'

'Harry stays at the castle much of the summer,' Albus explained quickly, standing as well. 'It is not something I wish widely known, at the moment. Nor have I yet spoken to him of the Order…'

'I understand,' Kingsley said hastily, though he was looking confused.

The back door opened before more could be said on the subject, and both the Potions Master and the student trudged in, Harry carrying two large buckets and looking slightly breathless.

'The kitchen, Potter,' Snape commanded before Harry had even shut the door.

Harry went through the back way, not noticing the crowd in the front room. Severus sidled in.

'And how was your afternoon, Severus?' Albus asked pleasantly, his eyes twinkling again.

Severus scowled. 'Rather irritating,' he griped. 'I did manage to procure an excellent specimen of curled octopus, but Potter showcased his usual flair for drama.'

'Oi!' Harry protested from the kitchen, where Remus could hear the scraping of the buckets being set down. 'It's not my fault you went and – oh. Er… hello,' he finished awkwardly, stomping in to find the gathering awaiting him.

Kingsley smiled, stepping forward. 'I do not believe we have ever officially met,' he said kindly. 'But it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Potter.'

He held out a hand and Harry, looking slightly embarrassed, shook it.

'It's Harry,' he said shyly. 'Just Harry, Mr…'

'Shacklebolt,' Kingsley said. 'But please, call me Kingsley.'

'Right,' said Harry. 'Well it's… er, it's good to meet you too.'

He shot a puzzled look at Remus and Sirius. Remus nodded reassuringly. 'You look as though you've been swimming again,' he noted, appraising the sand and rumpled clothes.

Harry grimaced. 'Not swimming, precisely,' he said. 'But _someone_ threw my wand into the middle of a rockpool.'

'It was an exercise,' Severus retorted. 'And, to my own surprise, one you actually managed.'

'Only to get half the rockpool and a _jellyfish_ in the mix!' Harry complained.

'Well, perhaps next time you will Summon with a bit more precision,' Severus retorted. 'Or perhaps, you will do as I have instructed in the first place without requiring additional motivation.'

'It wasn't –'

'A jellyfish?' Remus repeated over Harry's grumbling.

'Were you stung?' Sirius asked, stepping forward with a frown.

'Yes!' Harry griped, just as Severus answered: 'He's perfectly fine.'

'Where were you stung?' Albus asked calmly, motioning Harry toward him.

Harry sighed and turned over his right arm as he reached Albus. 'It wasn't that bad, and it _is_ fine,' he said mulishly. 'But still…'

'You threw his wand into the water?' Sirius repeated, rounding on Snape. 'What the hell is wrong with you?'

'Sirius –' Remus tried, unsuccessfully.

'I shall teach Potter as I see fit,' Severus defended angrily. 'And, I might add, the lesson was successful.'

'He could have been hurt!' Sirius retorted. 'He _was_ hurt.'

'Oh, spare me,' Severus spat. ' _Only_ Potter could find hidden danger in a protected, shallow pool. I am half surprised he did not manage to summon a shark. Though as you seem so _fond_ of taking him into the open water, I shan't give up hope…'

'Severus, Sirius, enough,' Albus said, finishing his examination of Harry's arm with a put-upon sigh. 'It is too early for in-fighting, in every sense.'

The men broke off their bickering, but glared daggers at each other across the room. Kingsley was watching them with bemusement.

'So… what is everyone doing here?' asked Harry.

'Kingsley has come to join for tea,' Minerva said, smiling. 'And Severus will be staying as well.'

Snape gave a scowl that suggested he quite intended to refuse, but he remained silent at Albus' pointed nod. Harry frowned, clearly aware he was missing something.

'Go on up and bathe,' Albus said, nodding Harry toward the staircase. 'And take one of the antihistamine potions in the cabinet, just in case. They should be labelled – the bright pink one.'

'But I –'

'You can't have tea with all that seawater and sand,' Minerva insisted. 'Go on.'

Defeated, Harry made for the staircase. Remus waited until they all heard the bathroom door shut above before turning to Sirius.

'We'll fix the tea,' he said to the others. He grabbed Sirius' wrist again, and practically dragged him into the kitchen while the others began talking in low voices again.

'Oww, Merlin!' Sirius complained, wrenching his arm free as the kitchen door swung shut behind them. 'What are you –'

'Stop it, Sirius,' Remus hissed. 'What are you playing at, picking an argument with Severus in front of a guest we do not yet know? In front of Harry?'

'It wasn't as though I was the only one,' Sirius grumbled. 'He gives as well as he takes. And Harry knows that –'

'What Harry needs to know is that we are all on his side,' Remus said. 'He already struggles to trust Severus.'

'Good,' Sirius spat. 'He's nothing but –'

'He is Harry's professor,' Remus reminded him. 'And he is on our side. Harry needs to trust him to learn from him. _You_ stirring up trouble will only –'

'Oh, come off it,' Sirius complained, slamming the tea tin he'd been collecting down on the countertop. 'You can't honestly say you _like_ him, Moony!'

'I neither like nor dislike Severus,' Remus insisted. Sirius snorted. 'No, truly,' he said. 'Our past will always colour the present… but Severus has been of great help to me already. It is thanks to him I was able to procure Wolfsbane –'

'It is thanks to Dumbledore,' Sirius countered. 'Snape would never have –'

'He is the one who brews it,' Remus said. 'And he continues to do so, even though I am no longer at Hogwarts. Whether he does it at the headmaster's insistence is immaterial. What's more, he has protected Harry on several occasions, and I cannot help but be grateful for it. But regardless, Padfoot, he _is_ a part of the Order.'

'We've made mistakes in trust before…'

'And he _is_ instructing Harry in wandless spellwork,' Remus continued, ignoring this. 'If we do not show faith in him, Harry will not. And that will be detrimental to everything.'

He set the kettle boiling, and began to pull a few things from the icebox. Sirius crossed his arms, balancing against the counter on his hip. 'I can't do it,' he said stubbornly. 'I won't.'

Remus sighed. 'I am not asking you to befriend him,' he said. 'Just… lose the open hostility. Particularly when Harry is around.'

He flicked his wand at the kettle, pouring the scalding water over the cups.

'You want to be an example in Harry's life?' he asked, adding sliced lemon to the tray. 'Well, sometimes that is going to mean showing courtesy to those you would rather disparage.'

'Harry doesn't need my assistance to hate Snape,' Sirius disagreed. 'The _professor_ does enough to ensure that quite alone.'

'Be the bigger person, Sirius,' Remus lectured in exasperation. 'That one grown man acts the petulant child does not excuse another.'

He led the way into the dining room without another word, leaving Sirius to levitate the tray of food. The others had retaken their seats by now. Above them, Remus could hear the taps turn in the bathroom.

'What about Cokeworth, Severus?' Albus was saying, frowning slightly. 'I would not have pulled you away if it were –'

'It was perfectly fine,' Snape cut across him in a hiss. 'I had no need to stay.'

Sirius paused, halfway to handing a cup to Minerva. 'Cokeworth?' he repeated, looking suspiciously at Snape. 'What were _you_ doing in Cokeworth?'

'Nothing of your concern, mutt,' Severus shot back angrily.

Sirius huffed but – looking at Remus – held his retort this time. Remus took his own tea, studying Severus curiously. He knew that the Potions Master had hailed from the town… but had no idea what could have drawn him back. It had been common knowledge in their school days that Snape hated to return home.

Harry bounded down the stairs again at precisely that moment, hair still wet from the shower. He reached hungrily for a couple of cakes while Minerva fixed his tea.

'At risk of stoking a fire,' Kingsley began with some amusement. 'What lesson were you learning that involved your wand getting thrown into a rockpool?'

Harry swallowed before he answered, shooting another resentful look at Snape. 'A Summoning Charm,' he said when he'd cleared his throat.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. 'A wandless spell?' he clarified. 'At your age?'

Harry sighed. 'That wasn't the problem,' he admitted. 'It's the bit without saying the words aloud that's been difficult.'

'Every part of that spell has been difficult for you,' Severus corrected waspishly.

But Kingsley was looking impressed. 'That is quite advanced magic,' he complimented Harry, glancing at Dumbledore. 'Particularly at your age. Most students, if I remember correctly, do not learn nonverbal magic before N.E.W.T. level coursework. There are some who never manage it at all. And wandless spellwork is an even rarer gift.'

Harry shrugged, blushing a bit. 'Thanks,' he mumbled. 'But I'm not that good at it yet.'

'Yes, you are,' Sirius defended proudly.

Severus gave a snort of apparent dissent.

'Many of our recruits struggle with the skill,' Kingsley continued, smiling. 'It is one of the most difficult parts of their training, and they are among the most talented there are.'

Harry sat up a bit, looking interested. 'What is it you do?' he asked.

'Kingsley is an Auror,' Minerva explained. 'With the Ministry of Magic's Magical Law Enforcement department.'

Now, it was Harry's turn to look impressed. 'Really?' he queried. 'Like that bloke you've got to teach?' he asked Dumbledore.

Albus smiled. 'Yes, Kingsley was a colleague of Professor Moody's before Alastor left the Ministry. They worked together many times.'

'You've brought Alastor out of retirement?' Kingsley questioned, turning to face Dumbledore himself. 'You did not say…'

'We had not reached the topic,' Albus admitted. 'But yes, Alastor will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts for us this coming term. He agreed only yesterday.'

Severus' eyes had grown steely. Remus could see a muscle working at the corner of his mouth. Quite suddenly, he set his own teacup down on the table.

'Forgive me,' he said stiffly, rising. 'But I must take my leave.'

Albus frowned, looking worried. 'Are you sure you cannot –'

'No, I have things to see to,' he insisted before the headmaster could finish. He gathered his cloak from the stand at the door.

Remus pushed to his own feet. 'I'll accompany you to the Apparition point,' he offered.

Severus shot a glare over his shoulder. 'I assure you, I do not need assistance finding it,' he said pointedly.

Remus pulled open the door. 'I insist,' he said. 'I haven't had a walk all day.'

The professor stalked through the door without a word. Sirius gave him an incredulous look, but Remus merely smiled as he pulled it closed behind them, following the Potions Master out to the path.

'Why do you insist on refusing to socialise?' he asked, jogging a bit to catch up to Snape's quick stride. 'If you just made an effort –'

'Why do _you_ insist otherwise?' Severus retorted without turning. 'I am not in the market for companionship, Lupin. The Order is a duty, not a book club.'

'It is a duty,' Remus agreed. 'But it is also a brotherhood, Severus. We cannot win this fight working alone.'

'I am not a social man,' Severus growled, continuing on. 'I came today at the headmaster's instruction, nothing more.'

'But if you could –'

'How many times, wolf?' he spat, marching still faster toward the seagrass and his way out. 'Interaction with the brat, the mutt and you will not aid me to do what _my_ assignment will be for this suicide mission. And I have no desire to acquaint myself further with insipid fools. I have given enough for this war as it is.'

They walked in silence for a moment. And then Remus decided to broach it.

'You know,' he said quietly, 'She was not the only good person in the world.'

'Who?' Snape ground out, the high grass sweeping the skirts of his robes as they neared the cliff.

'Lily,' Remus answered quietly.

Snape whirled, apoplectic with rage. 'What on earth are you talking about, wolf?' he demanded. 'Whatever you _think_ you –'

'I think nothing,' Remus said, shrugging innocently. 'But we shared seven years together, Severus. I am not ignorant.'

He thought, for a moment, the Potions Master might curse him. 'You have no idea what you are talking about,' he spat angrily.

'I knew her well,' Remus reminded him. 'And I know you grew up together. Was that why you returned to Coke–'

'My father died,' Severus blurted out, nearly shaking in anger. ' _That_ was why I returned to that Muggle dung heap – to see to the house he left behind. It had _nothing_ to do with her, and it is none of your –'

'I'm sorry,' Remus apologised, feeling suddenly callous. 'I did not –'

'It does not matter,' Severus cut across him. 'You know _nothing_ of me, Lupin. Nothing of that time. A childhood friendship born in a worthless Muggle town? It was ended by the time we reached adolescence.'

'Perhaps,' Remus agreed softly. 'But that does not change what –'

'And she is dead,' Severus reminded him bluntly. 'Nothing changes that. What does the rest of it matter?'

'You presume you are the only person to lose the one you love to this war, Snape?' Remus pressed on, ignoring the dismissal. 'You are mistaken. Sirius himself lost the woman –'

'If you compare me to that ignorant mutt one more time, Lupin –'

'Fine,' Remus relented, a bit testy himself now. 'Forget Sirius, then. What about Lily? You think you are the only one who feels her loss?'

'Do not speak to me of –'

' _I_ loved her too, Severus,' Lupin went on anyway. 'Perhaps not in the way that you did…'

'I did _not_ –'

'But she was my family. Lily, and James… we have all lost people in this war. It does not make the world less worth fighting for.'

'The world is cruel, Lupin,' Snape spat viciously. 'I would think you would know that better than anyone.'

'I do know it,' Remus assured him. 'But I recognise that there is good among the wickedness, Severus. There are things worth fighting for.'

'There are,' Snape agreed. 'But that is the difference between you and I, Lupin. All of mine are dead.'

He stepped over the boundary, and vanished without another word.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Ten** :

 **Gundy486** : Thank you for the review! Glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope you'll like Chapter Eleven as well!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the chapter and the Sirius interludes. As we have corresponded about the previous chapter I won't do so here, except to reiterate that the flashbacks are definitely going to continue to be a major part of this story – though unlikely in quite as much abundance as was necessitated by the previous instalment. I don't know if others had similar responses; though I don't doubt it as a possibility, as multiple timelines often draw mixed opinions. I did not receive any messages or reviews indicating as such, but one never knows. Either way, the format is a part of the story I am planning to tell in Part III. I hope people will like where it goes. At any rate, glad you enjoyed this instalment and I hope you'll like the next one – though I'm not quite sure what 'somewhat guardedly' indicates…

 **MoonshineMadame:** Thanks for your review! Glad you liked the conversation with Moody… as to your question – yes, this is the real Moody. As to whether that will play out as it did in canon, I will remain mum for the moment.

The Albus/Gellert story was in the last chapter, but I'm very happy to hear you liked it. Exploring their story is one of my favourite parts about writing this book. How Dumbledore came to _be_ Dumbledore is fascinating to delve into, and I hope will be interesting to read as well. As for the phoenix tears… they're not so much a cure here as a temporary halt – like a plaster on the bullet hole, almost. Of course, the brothers will take just about anything they can get at this juncture. Harry's interrogation in this chapter on Grindelwald… yes, Albus is seeing a bit of collision of his worlds here. He deals with it the best way he knows how, at this juncture. He doesn't lie, which I think is important. Neville's history… I shan't comment too much on this now, because I think you'll see soon how this will play out in the course of this book.

Ah, Hesse. So, 'Hesse' is what the region is usually called in English (or sometimes Hessia), though I know 'Hessen' is the German name. I used the English variant for the purposes of the story, since the speaker was British. Sorry for any confusion!

Hope you enjoy Chapter Eleven!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for reviewing! Happy you enjoyed the chapter and the Moody and Sirius bits – and I hope you like the next instalment!

 **Me (Guest Reviews)** : Thank you for your reviews! I am glad the story can be of some comfort for you – and I truly hope that things look up for you soon. Just remember that everything – no matter how dire it may seem – truly does pass eventually. And if you can get through it, you will be stronger for it on the other side. All my best.

 **Alexandra** : Thank you for your review! So glad you have discovered the series and are liking it thus far – and I hope the little break between Chapters Ten and Eleven has allowed you to catch up at work! :D I really appreciate your readership and comments, and I hope you like the next chapter!

 **ImmortalGlee** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm really glad you're still enjoying the story. Perhaps you will have accurately guessed Albus and Kingsley's destination… I suppose we shall see in Chapter Eleven!

 **Guest** : Thanks for reviewing! Happy to hear you liked Chapter Ten's revelations. As to whether this will affect Harry's friendship / the Trio's dynamic… I expect we'll see shortly! Enjoy Chapter Eleven!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you for your review, and especially for your support! I promise… I will definitely keep writing the tale as I have imagined it – regardless of positive or negative reactions to certain events. :) I hope you'll continue to enjoy it!

 **StormOwlRage** : Thank you for reviewing! Very glad you're liking the story still. The lessons with Albus are some of my favourites too – and there's still plenty to come in Part III! Haha and yes, I can definitely see a bit of semi-tolerant parenting in the way Albus sometimes deals with Harry and Severus' mutual acrimony – much to both their consternation at times. Mmm, and Grindelwald. Did Albus see it coming? Ever? Perhaps, one day. This day… I rather doubt it. It is all wrapped up in a thousand emotions and questions and insecurities and concerns… and Albus, if he did not already anticipate doing so in future, will need to reckon with his own past to a certain extent – certainly in so much as he must prepare himself for future difficult conversations with Harry about it. How much he will tell him, and when, we will soon see. I cannot, of course, comment on your musings as to Grindelwald's possible future plans… but we will certainly see that play out as well.

Sirius healing! We're finally getting there – a culmination and continuation of what began at the conclusion of Part II and Sirius' decision to reassess his priorities. Harry is first in his thoughts, now. And that will have an effect on him and on their relationship moving forward.

I'm glad you enjoyed watching Voldemort's journey as well. It felt important to include his looming arrival… as it plays so much a role in the actions and reactions of our other characters, and in the final story.

I hope you like Chapter Eleven!

 **Pleiad5** : Thank you for your review! Very glad you've stumbled upon this series, and happy to hear you are enjoying it thus far. The central story is certainly about Dumbledore and Harry's relationship, so it's great that you are enjoying that. It is true that this somewhat sidelines Sirius… though I think, in the context of this story, there are reasons for that – and I hope that we can still keep him involved! As for Minerva – it is an interesting and accurate observation, and one I have heard before. I will not deny that for as much as I love Minerva (and I do love her!), she is one of the more difficult characters to write because we really don't get much about her characterisation in canon – beyond the Head of House persona and her role as Dumbledore's lieutenant. There are a few brilliant moments of more from her – notably in the final book when Harry returns for the Battle of Hogwarts, her confrontation with Umbridge in book five, her somewhat motherly actions toward Harry in book four (before the first task and after the Moody reveal in particular), and in the first book (with her watching at Privet Drive and when she puts Harry on the Quidditch team). Otherwise, however, there is a lot of unexplored territory with her. Having her significantly more involved in this story has meant keeping her the somewhat aloof strict grandmother type she is in the canon novels is largely impossible, because it just would not fit with the closer relationship she and Albus and Harry have had here. I've had to expand her role in the direction that, I felt, would be the most natural for her… but I freely admit that has meant taking some leniency with her character.

As to Sirius and Marlene… I have never seen them paired together before. It was entirely an invention of my own. That said, I am certain there may be works out there that have done it – there are so many HP fanfictions, I doubt I can be the first who has explored the pairing. I don't think it is an idea at all derived from canon, however.

I hope you enjoy Chapter Eleven!


	12. Noctiluca Scintillans

**A/N:** So, I had a very long chapter for you all… too long. I've cut it here for now, and hopefully that means Chapter Thirteen will post quite soon. I realise the 'summer' of this book seems to be taking quite a while (although, to be fair, I think it was 20 chapters of the previous book as well)… but I promise we will be moving a bit faster in the next chapter.

In the meantime, enjoy 'Noctiluca scintillans'!

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TWELVE

 **Noctiluca Scintillans**

 _Albus called over his shoulder to Aberforth to mind the house, and hurried off down the lane after Gellert. The other boy was nearly skipping with excitement._

 _'Gellert!' Albus called, jogging a bit to catch him up._

 _Grindelwald turned with his face still shining. Albus stopped in front of him, clutching at a slight stitch in his side. The bright morning had clouded into a dreary afternoon, and a soft drizzle of rain coated his face and forearms as they stood in the deserted street._

 _'This… what you saw this afternoon,' he said carefully, 'It cannot go farther, do you understand? Nobody can know. Even Bathilda…'_

 _'She does not know?' Gellert asked, looking surprised._

 _'She may have suspicions,' Albus allowed. 'But I do not believe my mother told even her the full truth. You must know what danger she – all of us – would be in, should word of her illness reach the wrong ears.'_

 _'Stop calling it an illness,' Gellert scorned. 'I've told you – it is power.'_

 _Albus felt his anger rise. 'It is not the sort of power which will be lauded, Gellert,' he said sharply, though in a low whisper. 'It is the sort that will get her imprisoned, or even killed. That she has survived to date is a miracle. Most with her condition do not live past the age of ten. I cannot put her at risk – I will not. If you cannot swear to me that you shall keep the secret, then I am afraid –'_

 _'Certainly I will swear it, if you wish,' Gellert agreed before he could finish. 'You must know, Albus, that I would not put you or your family in harm's way. I cannot remember finding an acquaintance I have enjoyed more thoroughly, and I should hate to give you up to the gallows.'_

 _He gave a smile, but Albus could hardly return it through his own nerves._

 _Gellert sighed. 'I_ shall _swear it,' he said again. 'But before I do… I want to show you something.'_

 _Albus glanced back at the cottage, hesitating._

 _'How long does she usually sleep after a fit like that one?' Gellert asked, not unkindly._

 _Albus considered. 'A few hours, at least,' he admitted._

 _'Time enough then,' Gellert decided. 'Come with me. I promise, you will not regret it. And I shall give you whatever vows you desire when we have finished.'_

 _He waited for Albus' nod. Then, to the latter's surprise, he started on foot not toward Bathilda's home, but down the lane in the direction of the village. As they walked, Gellert cast a tricky little charm – giving them a bubble of privacy from any prying ears that might have defied the vacancy of the street._

 _'She is an Obscurial,' he said bluntly._

 _'Yes,' Albus agreed. There was little point in denial._

 _Gellert shook his head as he kicked a small stone in the path. 'I had never seen an Obscurus in person before,' he said. 'Though their power, of course, is well-documented in the histories. They were said to be all but vanished from this part of the world.'_

 _'There had not been one in Britain since the early 1700s,' Albus agreed. 'Abroad, it is a less singular occurrence… though still quite rare, particularly in the European countries.'_

 _'Yes,' Gellert said, nodding to himself. 'But an Obscurial child of a wizarding family…_ your _family, no less. Forgive me, my friend, but I cannot imagine your own powers blossomed so fully in a house where Magic was discouraged.'_

 _'No,' Albus admitted. 'It was not our parents who created the circumstances from which Ariana's affliction was born.'_

 _'Might I ask – at the risk of impertinence – what did happen, then?'_

 _So Albus told him. He was not entirely sure this was wise… but Gellert already knew the darkest secret. He found, as the details poured from him for the first time in full, that even through the pain there was something cathartic in it. He had never before had this – an equal, privy to everything, in whom he might confide. Even with Aberforth, he never spoke of what had happened to Ariana; only of what she had become… and how to control her, keep her, and save her._

 _They had reached the village square by the time he finished. Gellert took them to the left, toward the little church. It was silent at this hour._

 _'An unspeakable force of evil,' Gellert spat, colour high in his cheeks._

 _Albus sighed. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'But she cannot help it. It has more control than she –'_

 _'I was not speaking of your sister,' said Gellert darkly._

 _They had reached the kissing gate. Gellert looked surreptitiously around – but the churchyard was quite as deserted as the street had been._

 _'I take it this was how you lost your father?' he asked._

 _Albus nodded shortly. 'When I was ten years of age,' he recalled. 'My father went after the boys who had attacked her… and he was imprisoned for his revenge. He could not, of course, explain why he had done it.'_

 _Gellert's lip curled. 'Of course not,' he said angrily. 'But he should have. It was a righteous quest.'_

 _'Perhaps,' Albus mused. 'But does it help, in the end? To spread the cycle of violence? My mother did not think so. She never spoke to us about it after those first few days… but I could tell. It could not undo the horror that had taken hold in my sister. And in the aftermath, we lost our father as well.'_

 _'Sometimes, violence is the_ only _way to end the cycle of destruction,' Gellert disagreed. 'Sometimes we must do the unthinkable – the cruel – to bring about a better world. Your father understood that. He should not have had to shrink from vindication.'_

 _'He had no choice,' Albus reaffirmed. 'The Ministry would have taken her. She is – you must have seen – a great threat to the International Statute of Secrecy. A threat which only grows as the Obscurus gains in power. She cannot control herself, and she could not conceal her abilities.'_

 _'But that is the crux of the problem,' Gellert argued, clenching his fist upon the metal gate. 'Why should we have to hide our abilities? Why should our children suffer and die, plagued by an affliction based in Muggle torture – or government-induced fear of what is theirs by birth right?'_

 _Albus looked hard at his friend. 'It is because of children like Ariana that we_ have _such laws,' he reminded him. 'The Obscurial is the rare case, of course… but Muggle persecution was rampant in the years before the Statute was signed. For children in particular, it has always been hard to control outbursts of magic. We could not risk lives…'_

 _'And for what?' Gellert challenged. 'Why are we so bound to_ their _laws? Why are our governments built around the mission to conceal the Magical world, rather than to bring it into power? You speak of the threat Muggles posed to us… but_ we _are the superior race._ We _are the blessed ones.'_

 _'We are all human, Gellert,' Albus pointed out. 'Wizard and Muggle alike. There are wizarding children born every day to Muggle parents; and Muggle children born to wizards. It is the duty of society to work for a better world for all.'_

 _'Yes,' Gellert agreed. 'But in a better world, Albus, your sister would not have been tortured for her gifts. She would have been lauded. In a better world, wizards would have what is theirs by the natural order –_ we _would be the powerful; charged with the protection of all. We would not crouch in the shadows, in fear of our own exposure. We would not be taught to tamper and shroud the talents that have been granted to us.'_

 _'That is not the way the world is, Gellert,' Albus said sadly._

 _Gellert unhitched the kissing gate, pushing his way through. He held the wrought iron for Albus to pass him into the churchyard._

 _'Not yet,' he said. 'But it only takes the right men to make it so.'_

 _Albus felt the thrill of power once more as he stepped through, matching stride with Grindelwald as the latter chartered a course among the headstones._

 _'These laws – this Statute of Secrecy – is based upon a fallacy sold to us throughout the centuries,' Gellert said quietly. 'We say it is for our protection… but it is not, Albus. It is for Theirs.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That night, which was to be their last on this visit to Shell Cottage, Harry did something he had not yet had a chance to do during their stay.

He took an evening walk with Dumbledore.

The outing had been the headmaster's suggestion, shortly after their supper and the parting of the Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Minerva had requested Remus' assistance in sorting through some of his old materials – hoping, Harry assumed, that she might expedite the process of forcing Alastor Moody to choose books for his own upcoming lessons. Sirius, who had been unusually quiet through dinner, had retired early, claiming a headache. Harry rather suspected that Sirius was not looking forward to tomorrow's departure. He himself felt a pang at the leaving, though Albus had already promised that Harry could visit again within the fortnight.

Despite the harrowing events of Snape's afternoon lesson, Harry was not tired. On the contrary, he could barely contain his endless curiosity – for he had been able to tell for hours that there was something the headmaster was keeping from him. He had schemed to confront Dumbledore that evening either way, when the headmaster himself remarked that it was perfect weather for a moonlight stroll.

And so it was. The air was still and comfortably warm; the quiet of their desolate location broken only by the lapping of the waves against the shore and the soft chirping of crickets calling to one another in the seagrass. The moon – bright and nearly-full in the cloudless sky – provided more than enough light even for the somewhat perilous descent along the rickety staircase, and Harry did not need his wand for additional guidance. Albus took him to the left at the base of the stairs – the opposite direction to the rockpools he and Snape had explored that afternoon. He walked at a leisurely pace, so that Harry had no trouble matching step beside him.

'You have questions, I do not doubt,' the headmaster opened, soft moonlight shining off the white of his beard as he turned his head toward Harry.

'One or two,' Harry agreed with a grin.

Albus inclined his head. 'You may as well ask,' he invited.

'Alright,' Harry agreed. 'What was Kingsley doing here? I thought we were keeping Sirius from the Ministry… and you said he was a friend of yours, but it was obvious he didn't know Sirius or Remus well.'

'No, he had never met Sirius before tonight,' Albus confirmed. 'And Remus and Kingsley are hardly more acquainted.'

'That seems an awfully big risk,' Harry observed. 'How could you know he wouldn't… I don't know, tell the Minister?'

'Because I have taken some considerable time to know Mr Shacklebolt myself,' Albus explained. 'It is much easier, you see, to predict the actions of people we know well to situations we ourselves place them in. I knew it would not be an easy introduction, but I also understood that Kingsley would stay to hear the whole of the story, and that – once he had – his judgment would be free from prejudice.'

Harry thought about this as flecks of sand peppered his ankles above his trainers. 'What if you're wrong?' he asked quietly. 'I mean… he _seems_ alright… but what if he gives Sirius away?'

'I do not believe I have misjudged his character,' Albus said carefully. 'Although, as I have said many times, my judgment is not infallible. Even so, there are protections upon this cottage which would secure Sirius in the event that Kingsley were to betray him. He was only able to pass the threshold of my wards because I myself brought him through – he could not hope to imitate the journey without my company. Sirius, so long as he does not take the risk of leaving the protected property, is well out of reach of Ministry searchers.'

'Snape mentioned something of the wards,' Harry remembered. 'But _he_ could come here without your bringing him. Why?'

'Professor Snape,' Dumbledore began – putting just the slightest emphasis on the title that Harry had dropped, 'Stayed in the cottage himself, many years ago. He has been keyed to the wards since that time. He, Remus and Sirius – and of course Minerva, who has partial ownership of the property – have the freedom to come and go at leisure. So too could they bring others within its protection. But even you, my dear boy, would find yourself unable to enter without the company of one who has been keyed to Shell Cottage. Kingsley is in a similar position.'

'Snape stayed here?' Harry asked, struck by this odd bit of news. 'When? Why?'

'A story which is not mine to tell,' Albus said quietly. 'Perhaps, one day, he will share it himself.'

'And perhaps I'll have the highest score on the Potions O.W.L.,' Harry countered bitterly.

Albus chuckled. 'Your Potions have come on very nicely,' he said. 'I would not rule out the possibility.'

Harry frowned. 'Why did you send him today?' he asked instead.

'I do apologise for the lack of notice,' Albus lamented. 'I fear I did not entirely think through the implications of my intention with Kingsley. It was not until I reached London that it occurred to me it may be more prudent to engage you in activity outside the cottage for an hour or two. It was lucky Severus was so quick to answer the call.'

'Why?' Harry asked again, a bit mulishly. 'Why send me away? Was it because… well, because you thought the meeting between Kingsley and Sirius might be awkward? I wouldn't have –'

'Not entirely,' Albus hedged, 'Although that certainly played a part in the decision. As we have already discussed, I could not _know_ , for a certainty, just how Kingsley would react upon seeing a man he had hunted as Britain's most dangerous fugitive for nigh on a year. But more than that, there was certain information I needed to give him that I did not feel it entirely appropriate to impart in your presence.'

Harry was a bit shocked at the honesty, but bristled at once under its implications. 'Because I'm too _young_ to –' he began hotly, but Dumbledore interrupted again.

'No,' he disagreed. 'Because it is of a subject on which I had not yet spoken to you, and which – I felt – I ought to do under less critical circumstances.'

The angry swell in Harry's chest subsided somewhat. He walked in silence a moment, waiting for the headmaster to continue.

'The last time Lord Voldemort was powerful,' he began after a fashion, 'The Ministry was in disarray. There were few who could be absolutely trusted, and many whose loyalties, or minds, or both, were under constant suspicion. His rise to power – though not by any means sudden – was subtle and cunning in a way that still took the government largely by surprise, and his means of securing his followers were such as had not been seen in Britain in living memory. The result, as he no doubt intended, was the creation of a chaotic abyss within the order of the country. By the time the Ministry had begun to form a systemic resistance, it was far too late. He had infiltrated everywhere, and every attempt to bring him to heel ended in disaster and tragedy. He had spies and cohorts in every department of the government, and the institution itself seemed likely to fall.'

Still, Harry waited. He had heard much of this before… and knew it could not be Dumbledore's ultimate purpose.

'In the shadows, however,' the headmaster went on, 'There was a second resistance – at times more powerful than the Ministry itself.'

'Outside the Ministry?' Harry said, frowning. 'But… then who created it?'

He thought he already knew the answer, and the headmaster's sad smile confirmed it before he spoke.

'I did,' said Albus. 'A most secret society, called the Order of the Phoenix.'

'The Order,' Harry repeated, sudden recognition dawning. 'I wondered…'

'Yes,' Albus affirmed. 'It was created of men and women – and I use the terms quite deliberately, for there were more than just Magical folk in her ranks – who had dedicated themselves to the eradication of Voldemort and his followers. Some were members of the Ministry, and many were not. Some fought with weapons, others with words. Some gave themselves entirely to the war effort, and some served peripherally while maintaining other jobs, or families, or even false loyalties. It was a dangerous and uncertain path, and over time – as Voldemort gained strength – many were lost in the cause.'

'My parents,' Harry guessed, seeing similarities in the explanation and all that he had heard from Sirius, Remus and the headmaster himself.

'Yes,' Albus agreed heavily. 'James, Lily, and many others. Well over three-quarters of the Order of the Phoenix were lost in the war, fighting to save those who could not fight for themselves.'

'But…' Harry hesitated, frowning again. 'But I don't understand,' he said at last. 'You were – what, telling Kingsley about the Order today, when you had Snape take me away for my lesson?'

'We were,' Albus said.

'But it was years ago,' he pointed out. 'Even if it _was_ secret then, why would…'

But he trailed off, suddenly understanding. He stopped in his pace, and Dumbledore paused too – turning to face him in the sand. He wore that same, sad smile once again.

'You're bringing it back,' Harry said, certain the deduction was true.

'Yes,' Albus agreed seriously. 'Although we know Lord Voldemort has not yet returned, it is foolish to assume complacency. I have some concern that the Ministry will not recognise the danger until it is upon us, and I do not wish to test the perils of appeasement. We will not reform the Order officially just yet… but the time is ripe for recruitment. There are few of us remaining who have survived.'

The thought made Harry feel slightly ill. He thought of his parents – dead at Voldemort's hand. Neville's parents – worse than dead. Sirius – imprisoned for more than a decade. How many more casualties must there have been?

He was not sure he wanted the answer, just now.

'So, Kingsley…' he asked instead. 'He wasn't in the Order last time?'

'No,' said the headmaster. 'He was engaged on the Continent for much of the war. But he is a skilled Auror and a good man – he will be an asset to us this time. I am hopeful that he will aide in enlisting others of likeminded view from the Ministry ranks.'

'What will you do?' Harry asked eagerly. 'How will you fight?'

Albus smiled, but shook his head. 'I will not go into details now, Harry,' he said gently. 'The Order operates in the greatest secrecy. It is necessary, for the protection of all. I shall, of course, tell you of things that concern you – and I shall not keep you in the dark where Lord Voldemort is concerned… but I will neither burden your mind with the details of our plans nor forsake my vows to the Order to provide every confidence. I have told you all this tonight so that you may understand. It is likely, in the next year or so, that things may become more complicated.'

Harry felt the heat in his chest blaze once more. 'But, I'll join!' he insisted. 'I _want_ to help – I want to fight with –'

'No,' Albus said, uncharacteristically firm. 'You are not of age, Harry. You would not yet have the skill, and I would not risk your safety for anything.'

'But I've faced him before,' Harry pointed out, miffed. 'Three times, now.'

'You have,' Albus agreed. 'But even still, I cannot allow you to place yourself in greater danger. Not while you are still underage, and not while you are still in school.'

'But it's what _I_ choose,' Harry insisted. 'I _want_ to fight him. I want to help.'

'At the moment,' Albus said with a sigh, 'The choice is not your own, Harry. And that is precisely my point. When you are of an age to make your own decisions freely – when you have all the information, and the ability to make an informed choice – then, and only then, will I allow you to consider it.'

He had not raised his voice, but Harry could feel the finality in his tone all the same. He knew it could do no good to argue. They walked on some minutes in silence – Harry still too irritated for speech – until a flash of colour in the distance made him pause, driving the Order and the annoyance temporarily from his mind.

'Harry?' Albus questioned, turning with a slight smile on his face.

Harry did not answer at once, still gazing intensely at the place where he'd seen the flash. He was about ready to give it up as a trick of the night, when…

'There it is again!' he said aloud, watching another appear. It looked almost like lightning – except that it was far too low, and much too small. He might have thought it the flash of a spell… but the headmaster's easy manner beside him spoke against a duel in their vicinity.

'Ah,' Albus said, giving a short chuckle. 'We have found it, then.'

Harry frowned at him, utterly bewildered. Albus set off toward the flash of light… which, Harry realised after a few more paces, was somehow coming from the sea itself.

'What did you do?' Harry asked in wonderment, staring at the expanse of sea. As each new wave crested, perhaps the length of a Quidditch pitch away near a bend in the shore, a flash of brightest blue appeared before him.

'I?' Albus questioned, his own eyes twinkling in almost the same shade. 'I assure you I did nothing.'

He walked forward, closer to the edge of the ocean. Harry saw, as they crept nearer, that a flat shoal extended quite some distance. The mighty waves crashed many yards out, while in this protected shallow the water was quite as still and smooth as glass. The headmaster stopped just short of the water, gesturing Harry closer.

'Step in,' he invited softly.

Harry raised his eyebrows dubiously.

'It is quite safe,' Albus promised, eyes twinkling in amusement. 'This shoal is only a few inches deep… not near enough water for jellyfish.'

Harry scowled at the reminder, but he kicked off his shoes and rolled the legs of his trousers. He wondered, vaguely, what the headmaster was on about… but then, he had learned with Albus that some things must be taken on faith alone.

He straightened and stepped forward into the water.

The effect was instantaneous, and so shocking that he nearly jumped back out again. The seawater _felt_ quite normal – a bit warmer, perhaps, for the shallows that had no doubt basked in sunlight most of the afternoon. But the instant his feet grazed the surface, a swirl of the same, brightly glowing blue surrounded them. As he staggered, churning the water further, the glow grew in both brightness and size.

Amazed, Harry stooped down and cupped the seawater in his hands. He let it dribble out, and watched a glowing stream pour from his fingertips back to the ripples of blue beneath.

'I thought you might enjoy it,' Albus said, chuckling slightly from behind him.

'It's a spell,' Harry guessed, turning in fascination to Dumbledore. 'But how can you make it glow only where it's touched?'

Albus was smiling, but he shook his head. 'It is Noctiluca scintillans,' he corrected. 'Sea sparkle. And its luminesce is quite its own.'

Harry, shocked, watched the flashes of light in the distant waves again. 'Where does it come from?' he asked quietly.

'It is unknown, in the main,' Albus replied. 'Though the luminescent effects are created by high concentrations of the plankton, probably in response to similarly high concentrations of their food source. The glow that you witness tonight is often called mareel, or milky sea. It is not so common in this part of the country. A treat, really, that we are able to see it tonight.'

'How did you know it was here?'

'I noticed the characteristic deposits in the distance, when Kingsley and I Apparated to the cliffside earlier today,' Dumbledore informed him. 'In the daylight, the organisms leave the water with a certain rust-coloured sheen. Mariners refer to the occurrence as 'Red Tide'. I could not be sure that there would be sufficient deposits to render the walk successful… but, as it was so fine an evening, I saw no harm in the attempt.'

'Muggle mariners have seen it?' Harry asked, intrigued. 'The Red Tides?'

'And the Milky Sea effect,' Albus clarified. 'The name, I believe, is a centuries old term used by Muggle sailors. They believed, in ancient times, that it was the sign of a journey blessed by the gods.'

'You mean Muggles can see it too?'

'Oh yes,' Albus agreed. 'Noctiluca scintillans is not exclusive to our world – no more than is the sea. It is not considered a Magical Creature.'

'But, the glow…' Harry mused, moving his foot through the water again to send the blue light dancing. 'It's just – it's so odd to think it isn't made by magic.'

'It is not spellwork,' Albus qualified. 'But Magic is not a manmade phenomenon. Nature is full of magic all her own, Harry… and it is far older and far more constant than that which we might create. A pity that so few take the time to appreciate it.'

'Why do they light up in flashes?' Harry asked, sweeping his fingertips along the surface. 'Why only where they're touched?'

'A defensive mechanism, or so it is believed,' Albus answered. 'Individually, the plankton is so small it can scarcely be seen with the naked eye. But with enough banded together…'

He gestured one long hand at the sea, magnifying the breaking crest of the next wave to four times its usual size. A swell of brightest blue crashed upon the sandbar, nearly blinding Harry in its intensity.

And Harry understood.

He stepped out of the shallow shoal not long thereafter, gathering his trainers in his hand until the sand and salt might dry his feet. He waved off Dumbledore's offer of a drying spell… for he liked to watch the way his footprints glowed as they walked, together, back to the Cottage.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Minerva had already turned in by the time Albus and Harry returned. As had Remus – who Albus knew must be feeling the effects of the approaching full moon. It was the main reason he had determined they should depart on the morrow. Though the potion would prevent any mishaps, Remus was wary of having Harry so near during a transformation, considering what had happened at the last cycle.

A shadow in the kitchen stayed his own ascent, however, as he and Harry approached the stairs. He paused, and Harry followed suit.

'Go on up,' he encouraged. 'It is quite late already.'

Harry looked curiously back at him but – finally showing some exhaustion from the day – shrugged, and climbed up alone toward bed. Albus waited until the door to the boy's room had shut before turning back for the kitchen, shooting a privacy charm at the base of the stairs as he went.

'Sirius,' he called softly as he pushed through the swinging door.

His guess had been correct. Sirius sat alone at the end of the countertop, wrapped in an indigo dressing gown and nursing a short glass of some amber liquid. Albus was not sure if the drink gave the shine to his eyes, or if he had grown teary.

He looked up as the headmaster entered, but did not give any other greeting. Albus conjured himself a tumbler from the air, and flicked his wand at a decanter on the marble surface. He slipped onto the neighbouring stool.

'A solitary nightcap is never advisable,' he opined lightly.

Sirius grunted, taking another swig from his own.

'Myself, I often find a use for it… in moderation, of course… when the tumult on my mind keeps me from sleep.'

Another grunt.

Albus sighed. 'Are you going to talk about it?' he asked. 'Or must you force me to coax it from you? Either way, I assure you, I have no intention of leaving you to wallow alone.'

'You wouldn't understand,' Sirius said at last.

'How can you know?' Albus wondered. 'If you do not attempt it?'

Sirius took another swallow, and straightened a bit in his chair. Suddenly, he turned to Albus with something close to desperation in his eyes.

'Can't you just take it away?' he asked in a hoarse whisper. 'Make it stop, please.'

Albus started somewhat, utterly nonplussed. 'Make what stop, Sirius?'

'All of it,' Sirius croaked. 'Everything. The last twelve years… just take them.'

The headmaster sighed again. 'A request beyond both my skill and my better judgment,' he admitted sadly. 'The past is written, Sirius. We must live for the present, and the future.'

'I don't need you to change it,' Sirius said softly. 'Just get rid of it. Just Azkaban… not everything. You could do it – modify my memory. You are the greatest sorcerer alive, Albus. And I need this. Please.'

Albus held the pleading gaze for a moment. He wished, very deeply, that he could return a different answer.

'I cannot, Sirius,' he said at last.

'Can't?' Sirius challenged, turning mulish, 'Or won't?'

'I would not advise it, were it even possible,' Albus said carefully. 'The experiences of our past – however terrible – inform our futures immeasurably. We are the men we are because of the trials we have suffered; the burdens we have shouldered; the tribulations we have overcome. The way to deal with your demons is to face them, my dear boy. To talk them through, and learn to live with their presence. Removing them is a superficial solution.'

'So, won't,' Sirius accused.

He threw back the reminder of his whisky and reached to refill the glass. Albus stayed his hand – closing his own on Sirius' wrist. It was stronger than it had been that day in the forest… but still far thinner than it had been thirteen years ago.

'I said I would not advise it,' Albus repeated. 'But I _would_ do it for you all the same, Sirius, if you requested it and it were in my power to acquiesce.'

'And why isn't it?' Sirius challenged. His voice had raised, and Albus was fleetingly grateful for the privacy charm he'd cast on the staircase before entering.

'Because what you ask spans too many years and too many layers of your mind,' Albus explained. 'You do not seek modification, or even the obliteration of one instance. You wish to have twelve years vanished entirely. Your mind, Sirius, could not handle such alteration. To attempt such a charm would be to risk permanent damage to your memory, not to mention your sense of self… and even I am unlikely to succeed.'

Sirius' shoulders slumped. He stopped attempting his reach for the bottle, drawing his arm back. Albus, taking pity, refilled both tumblers himself. Sirius accepted his with mumbled thanks, and fingered the edge as he stared unseeingly into its depths. The headmaster waited.

'Everything is different,' Sirius began after a moment. 'Everything… And, sometimes, I don't know my place in it.'

Albus frowned. 'I cannot know the complications of adjusting to life after the ordeal you have gone through, my dear boy… but I know enough of the struggle to accept difficult truths. I know what it is to feel terrible loss – and I know that it never truly fades.'

'It's not just that,' Sirius disagreed. 'I mean it is, of course. It's hard. James, Lily, Marley… I don't think I'll ever get over it entirely. But it's everything else too. Remus – he's been great, he really has. But he's… different. Everyone is. They've had this decade out here and I'm…'

He hesitated, looking unsure.

'I haven't,' he decided at last. 'Remus has changed. You've changed; Minerva's changed. And then, there's Harry… he's near to grown, and I've missed it all.'

'You have not,' Albus assured him gently. 'Believe me, Harry is far from grown. He has much still to learn, and there is still very much a place for you. You are filling it already.'

'Am I?' Sirius returned quietly. 'I'm not so sure. Remus thinks –' He paused, grimacing. 'Remus thinks I confuse him with his father,' he confessed. 'With James. He harped on me this afternoon about setting an example, with Snape…'

Albus let the issue on Severus lie, for the moment. 'Do you confuse Harry with James, Sirius?' he asked instead.

'Of course not!' Sirius exclaimed. But after a moment, his resolution faltered somewhat. 'I mean – he looks just like him, except for the eyes,' he said. 'And he's like James in other ways… but he's half-Lily too. And a bit of you,' he added, smiling wryly. 'I _know_ he's Harry,' he emphasised again. 'I know that. But I admit that, sometimes, I feel more like him than like Remus. He reminds me of what we were, at that age. And it feels a hell of a lot more reachable than where we're meant to be now.'

'That is understandable,' Albus said. 'It will take time. And I do not think a bit of fun would go amiss; though I do agree with Remus where Severus is concerned,' he added, giving Sirius a bit of a beady eye. 'It is a balance, Sirius. You will find it.'

'But it shouldn't _be_ like this,' Sirius lamented bitterly. 'I shouldn't feel this cut up when he's going – because he shouldn't be _going_ at all.'

Albus felt somewhat awkward.

'Don't get me wrong,' Sirius continued quickly. 'I'm very glad for what you've done for him – that you've been here, when I wasn't. And I know that I'm…' he sighed. 'I know I'm not in a position to do it myself – not right now. I've accepted that. It's just… I want _something_ , sometime, to work out as it should.'

He drained the last of his second whisky, and shook his head. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'It's been months – years, really. I ought to pull myself together. I shouldn't be carrying on like this.'

Albus squeezed his arm. 'My dear boy,' he said gently. 'It is alright, you know, _not_ to be alright. It is then that we must lean upon those who care for us.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They stirred later than usual – each worn out by their own busy day. Albus could hear the clatter of saucepans below, suggesting someone had already begun prepping breakfast.

He hoped, even with the coming moon, Remus was not allowing Sirius the honour.

'We ought to get down,' he said softly, brushing Minerva's hair from her cheek as she turned away from the sunlight streaming through the window.

She groaned, pushing his hand off and straightening her plait as she sat up against the headboard.

'Five more to do today,' she muttered resentfully, taking the dressing gown he passed her and tying it over her nightshirt. 'Though they are the last, thank Merlin.'

Albus, heading for the bathroom, had just opened his mouth to reply when a patter of hurried feet down echoed through his thoughts.

'Hedwig's just turned up!' Harry's excited voice called, evidently racing closer down the corridor. 'Ron's written to ask –'

The door burst open before Albus or Minerva could move.

'Oh!'

Harry broke off, his expression going from thrilled to shock to horror to high embarrassment in a matter of seconds. His eyes bugged out of his face as he stared at the two in their night things – Minerva still seated at the edge of the mattress – and his cheeks flamed scarlet. The letter flopped limply to its side over Harry's raised fist.

'I… er…. Sorry,' he mumbled.

He backed out of the room quickly, pulling the door shut.

'Well,' Albus said, his blue eyes twinkling as Minerva jumped off the bed, straightening her dressing gown and nearly as scarlet as Harry had been. 'I guess that cat is among the pixies now.'

'Where did you think she went every night while you've been here?' Sirius was asking teasingly, when Albus walked down to find Sirius, Remus and a slightly whey-faced Harry sharing breakfast. 'All the way back to Hogwarts?'

Albus hovered just out of sight for a moment, listening to the conversation in the kitchen. He was glad that, at the very least, the morning's escapades seemed to have brought Sirius from his melancholy of the night before.

'I didn't _want_ to think about it too closely,' Harry grumbled. 'It's not like I didn't… I mean I sort of guessed that… it's just – it's _odd_. I don't like it.'

Sirius laughed openly. 'Well, I hate to burst the Niffler's pouch, kid, but you're not that special. It's a right of passage – this is. And, to be frank, you might have been a lot less lucky. Why, I was only seven when I came upon my parents, completely starkers, with a broomstick and several conjured –'

'I'm not sure you're helping, Sirius,' Remus cut in loudly, as Harry looked likely to bring his eggs back up.

'That's not on,' Harry said weakly, as Sirius banged the table in high hilarity. 'They weren't _doing_ anything, thank Merlin…'

'You see, it's like this,' Sirius coughed out, apparently having far too much fun to throw in the towel just yet. 'When two people have… certain feelings, shall we say –'

'Ugh, I am _not_ five, Sirius!' Harry all but squealed. 'And I'm mates with Fred and George, remember? Any detail I might have missed in primary school… I'm well up on it now. And _please_ … I really don't want to think about it.'

Albus decided the time had come to intervene. He stepped smoothly around the corner, an expression of absolute benign greeting upon his face. Sirius stopped laughing, though it appeared to be quite an arduous task.

'Harry,' the headmaster began, stepping inside the kitchen and hiding his own amusement with some difficulty. 'I realise, perhaps, we had not made certain situations plain to you. If you wish to discuss –'

'No, thank you,' said Harry quickly, looking panicked. 'I… er… that's okay. Let's just not.'

Remus put a hand to his mouth, hiding his grin. Sirius was nearly crying.

'Very well,' Albus said, inclining his head. 'In that case, perhaps you would like to tell me what it is you were so excited about a few minutes ago?'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The putrid stench of horse feed and rotting wood pervaded their carriage as it bumped along through the Italian countryside. Wormtail's charms barely kept the jostling muted, and he hissed vehemently in remonstration when the basket in which he reposed skipped once more against the metal floor. Nagini shifted in response, encircling him more closely.

The useless servant himself whimpered slightly in recognition of his master's discontent, his own face a curious shade of green. The second basket – of food he had manged to stow away from its negligent purchaser at their departure from Caorle – lay untouched at his side.

It was not ideal, this paltry Muggle means of transport. But he did not dare leave a magical trail for the Aurors to follow. Already, even the Disillusionment charms that had been necessary for the boarding left him with a certain unease. But even less had he trusted Pettigrew's ability for stealth without magical aide.

The journey through the Adriatic had greatly tired him, as he had known it would. Even had he not feared the traces that magical travel might leave, he knew his rudimentary body would not be able to take it. But they were fighting time already, should they hope to stand a chance of putting the scheme he had begun to form into action. They still had most of the continent to traverse. Some method of Muggle transport would have to do, should they wish to reach Britain before the summer let out.

He had debated which direction, once their meagre dingy touched shore just outside of Caorle in the grey hour that preceded dawn. To go due north might have been most practical from a distance analysis, yet it would mean several additional borders, with their attendant guards and possible spellwork. Several additional chances that their presence might be noticed. North would also mean crossing the Alps – a feat for which he knew neither he nor his huffing companion was built for, at present. They would be nigh to impassable without magical aide… and magic in the mountains of Germany would hold more danger than perhaps anywhere else.

Dumbledore had presence there, and – he was certain – wards to guard it. The place was said to be unplottable, but that did not dispel the chance that they might inadvertently cross its myriad of spells. It would be harder to be certain, with his strength still low… and to set off their alarms would surely mean the end of their plot.

West was their only option.

'You had best learn to stomach something,' Lord Voldemort chastised his queasy servant. 'I shall need feeding again in an hour, and we will have a long journey on foot once we reach Turin.'

'I cannot, my Lord,' Wormtail muttered in a whinge. 'I have never done well in trains…'

He gave a mirthless scoff. 'You have never done well with much,' he corrected. 'But as you currently play a role in _my_ fate, Wormtail, refusal is not an option. I shall need to be carried across the border, and we cannot risk additional spellwork until we are safely in France.'

'Yes, my Lord,' Wormtail agreed meekly. He reached a trembling hand into the wickerwork basket and retrieved a loaf of bread. He wrenched a chunk away with his teeth, clearly fighting an urge to gag as he chewed.

Lord Voldemort smirked in amusement, running a hand along Nagini's smooth scales. He could feel the snake's own eagerness to depart this undignified means of transport.

 _'Patience, my love,'_ he crooned to her softly. _'We shall be in Turin before sunset, and start for the French border in the night. I shall ensure you have the chance to hunt, once we have left this foul compartment.'_

She coiled herself closer yet again in reply. Across the steel room, Wormtail cupped a hand to his mouth with a gurgle.

Voldemort ignored him.

 _'Not long yet,'_ he continued, though now more to himself than the snake. _'The border will be the greatest of our remaining feats. France will pass quickly enough, if we stow on another train. The Chanel shall be nothing to the sea we have just left. We grow closer every hour… to Britain, and to Harry Potter.'_

The great snake hissed, just as Wormtail lost the battle with his stomach. Lord Voldemort stared through the crack in the heavy door with attention to neither – watching the sun sink lower over the distant mountains: setting over this dark isolation of his past, and preparing to dawn upon the age of his triumph.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Eleven** :

 **JavaBrightStar** : Thank you for your review! Very glad you enjoyed the chapter centred on Severus so much – your reaction is quite what I was hoping for from Severus fans. What becomes of Spinners End will certainly unfurl later on in the story, and we will definitely see a follow-up to the little revelation at the end. Well done you for picking up on the Eileen/Tom Riddle hint – I wasn't sure many would. As to the first section… it had definitely been too long since I had the chance to explore a character who was alone for a good portion of time, and thus could enter his (or her) mind and view the scene without external dialogue. I wanted to get a bit of that in this chapter, and I'm glad you thought it worked.

Enjoy Chapter Twelve!

 **BlueWater5** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the writing last chapter, and I hope you'll like this latest one!

 **Me (Guest Reviewer)** : Haha, thanks for your review! Yes – summoning your wand is a highly important spell – and I believe my Severus has also said so before (to Ron, outside the Chamber of Secrets way back in Part I). It _is_ rather horrible that Snape was interrupted at his dead father's home… but then, we had to have him back to join the fun for a bit, didn't we?

Very interesting scene suggestion – I love it. Not sure it will work in this particular book, but I'll certainly keep it in mind as I'd love to see it play out. I hope, in the meantime, that you enjoy Chapter Twelve!

 **AlsoKnownAsMatt** : Thanks for your review! Not sure about your analysis of trust – because I think it ignores a lot of the deeper levels of this chapter. First of all, Snape openly says to Harry here not to trust, and to remember that nothing is certain. Sirius also points out to Remus that they have trusted before and been burned. I think you have to remember that we are seeing explanations from certain characters' POVs – not necessarily 'truth', and certainly not my own wisdom. We see only as far as the POV character does – a limitation of each narrator. I think that's something I have raised a few times now in different reviews. As to the idea of 'trust' – not a new theme for this story – it will have a larger role later on. I won't explain further at this time for fear of spoilers. I've spoken of 'blind' and 'wilful blindness' before as well (see a rather lengthy response posted in Chapter Three) … so I won't touch on it too much, but it does not equate to thoughtless here – but to 'unable to see, or foresee'.

Glad you enjoyed the Cokeworth portion of the chapter! It wasn't a flashback, btw… that was happening in current-time. Hope you like Chapter Twelve!

 **MoonshineMadame:** Thanks for your review! Oo… favourite chapter? Interesting… and quite exciting. I cannot quite agree, as personally Severus is not my favourite character (though I love him too, don't get me wrong!), but I am thrilled that you felt it so. That initial confusion was definitely the point – rather like the Sirius flashback a few chapters ago; you're meant to wonder where we are and what we're doing until suddenly the details begin to click into place. Severus' childhood memories are so painful – and then so mixed, with his mother and Lily particularly – that I felt it was important to evoke all his senses in this scene. As to his mother's wand… you'll just have to wait and see! For the moment, it is merely a piece of memory – and a reminder that while he loved Eileen, he is not much like Eileen (their magics are not a fit).

Mmm… yes, Dumbledore's order to have Harry take a 'lesson' does seem rather arbitrary at first. I actually initially included a longer explanation of why it was but, as the scene played out, it did not feel quite natural and so I binned it. I figured readers would eventually work it out – as obviously you did. :) I'm glad you liked the way the lesson itself read – it was definitely meant to be a bit more light-hearted in an otherwise fairly heavy chapter. Haha, and it is _definitely_ classic Harry to manage to put himself in danger playing in a rockpool.

Oh I am _so_ excited to have Kingsley into the fold. And who comes shortly after him – I really think (or hope, at least) that readers will enjoy it. I wrote about five scenes last night (all for later this book, though not next chapter) on a bit of a surge thinking about Kingsley's new role. As to Sirius and Severus – you, and Remus, are right: they argue like school children, much to Albus and Remus' consternation, and the amusement of third-parties. We'll definitely see more of all these characters before – and after – school term begins.

Hesse… yes, I'm not quite sure why English will sometimes insist on changing native-tongue names, particularly when they are quite close to the alteration. Sometimes, in my writing, I just leave the native tongue. Other times, I change it. Here I only did as Albus was speaking to Harry… I suspect with others, like Grindelwald himself, it would have been more practical to leave the German moniker.

Thanks again for your review, and enjoy Chapter Twelve!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for reviewing! Haha, yes, quite an intense chapter. Hope you enjoyed it – and I hope you like Chapter Twelve!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for your review! Yes, it's a bit odd that Tobias keeps all these things, I suppose, from Severus' POV. Of course, he does expect it, since Tobias told him in hospital that her things were all in the back bedroom. I think that is one of the most difficult things for him in this visit – having to recognise that there was a side to Tobias that he never knew… that piece which was for so many years shaded by drink and foul temper. In his own way, Tobias did love Eileen – not that that at all excuses what he did to her. Glad you enjoyed the rockpool lesson. I believe Snape was in agreement with you… as I am sure you probably worked out, the 'snide comment' that Harry faintly registers but does not heed enough to listen to is Snape telling him _not_ to touch what flew out of the pool. Alas, not Harry's wisest moment.

Hope you enjoy the next instalment!

 **StormOwlRage** : Thank you for reviewing! Happy to learn that you liked Severus' scenes this chapter. It is such an interesting adventure to write from his POV with the knowledge that _Hallows_ imparted, and I'm glad you are enjoying the opportunities for characterisation that it affords. I dare say that you _do_ detect a hint of respect, on both sides… though I do not believe either wizard has really admitted that to himself. This development is a bit of a long game – and I hesitate to admit that you will have to wait until Part V for the big payoff to this scheme… but I promise, it is coming – and there will be smaller payoffs between now and then as we further develop their relationship. Haha, and I'm glad you enjoyed my little joke with the cockles. In a world where I often offer overly complex explanation, I felt a simple one might be warranted here.

Mmm, and speaking of complicated explanations… Harry. I certainly agree – as Albus also points out – that Harry often seems to tap into his most powerful magic while under great duress and strong emotion. I dare say that some of the Dementor explanation, as it is derived from canon in-part, will probably meet expectations… but I hope that, once that explanation and a few other things rather come together, the solution will still surprise some readers and play out in a way that makes sense for this story. I am loathe to give additional explanation now, as I don't want to ruin it :).

I adore Kingsley. I am not entirely sure why, as he is a relatively minor player in canon… but I've always been intrigued by him, and I wanted to introduce him a bit sooner here. I'm glad you liked his welcome into the Order and found it rather realistic, as I was a bit nervous about how that would play out on the page. Ooh, and Remus. Remus… is interesting. There are hints in canon that I played on for this – particularly Remus' insistence to Harry that he does not like or dislike Snape; his passivity when Snape blatantly outs is lycanthropy to the school; and his interactions with Sirius when Snape is at issue. Of course, Remus in canon was _not_ in such close proximity to Snape that the viewer could see… and, in this story, I felt that my Remus – who is so used to dealing with his own inner demons and knows Snape a bit better – would have need to say something. We had a bit of a prelude to this way back in Chapter Three, and I very nearly did it in Part II (the scene where Remus presses Snape to use Lily's name, then corrects it, when Snape visits Remus in his quarters to tell Remus that Harry is avoiding learning the Patronus properly because he can hear his mother's voice when Dementors approach). It felt too early in their relationship, however, to drop that bomb in Part II… so I hinted at the knowledge instead. I rather think Remus, knowing what Snape is about to get into, is keen to offer him some sort of companionship – a port in the storm, I suppose. Snape, as is quite obvious, is less inclined to accept. We'll see how this develops…

In any case, very glad you enjoyed the chapter and I hope you will like Chapter Thirteen!

 **Bubblea** : Thank you for your review, and glad to see you back! Yes, it is mad to go back to Part I… I did it myself only a month or so ago, and I nearly paused in my current work to revisit it. Some of the change is experience, I suppose… some, just because the story has grown more complex. I thank you for the compliment either way, and I am glad you are enjoying the story! Hope you like the next chapter.

 **Guest** : Thanks for reviewing! Wow, super long review too… I'll do my best :). Very glad, first off, to hear you enjoy the story so much. As to Severus' abode… well, I'm quite sure they _could_ have devised a different option, but I think you will find there was a certain strategy in this choice. Of course, it does also strike similarities to the situation with Sirius and Grimmauld Place, which I assure you is deliberate. However, I would not suppose that Severus' POV in Chapter Twelve truly shows the entirety of this choice. Severus is somewhat of a masochist… and I think the situation with Spinners End will play itself out to show a bit more than we gleaned from his section of this past chapter. As to his mother's wand… you'll just have to wait and see! For the moment, it is merely a piece of memory – and a reminder that while he loved Eileen, he is not much like Eileen (their magics are not a fit). Severus himself will not use the wand. The piano… no, I'm afraid Sirius does not have much in the way of musical skill, although I find your suggestion quite intriguing. I can guarantee, however, that the piano will resurface and play a role later in the story. I myself am a vocalist and a pianist with a long background in musical theatre, so I quite agree with you on the properties of music… and I'm sure I will be unable to help myself weaving it in somehow.

The Summoning Charm, of course, we started way back in the early chapters of Part II… and Harry _does_ seem to have issues with the spell, even wanded. An intriguing theory you have put forth – as we saw in the early chapters of this entire series, with Severus' first flashback, that Harry was punished for his accidental Summoning as a very young child (he summons a stuffed toy, and Petunia spanks him for taking it from Dudley). Now, as he frustratingly laments, he has a bit of a 'block' on the spell. The two are not unrelated. As to Voldemort… that answer will make itself known in time. But it is quite true that Wormtail, at least, is aware that Harry has some unusual ability in wandless spellwork. The Lion's Mane was a deliberate choice, though mostly as it is a play on the 'Lion's Bane'. However, the observations you make on the allegory and the theme of the chapter more generally are quite correct in many respects. It is certainly about prudence, and the limits and sagacity of trust.

Albus' choice to pull Harry away… well, it should irritate you, somewhat. It certainly irritates Severus. However, the beginning of the next chapter will, I think, clear certain aspects up. And yes, Albus could have gone about telling Kingsley in a different manner… but I believe seeing with one's own eyes is often the most expedient and complete way to determine truth, and Albus was banking on that. It also allowed the entire group to get to know one another, for Harry (eventually) to meet Kingsley, and for certain conversations to be held more fully. The keying of the wards – well, the simple explanation is that Kingsley was _not_ keyed to them at all. As you probably remember, Albus brought Sirius and Remus to the house. He was able to bring them inside its warding, because he is the warder. He only 'keys' them to the location to allow them to come and go on their own – and, as they are keyed, they could also bring others in and out by Side-Along Apparition if they choose to do so. Minerva and Severus are similarly enabled – though the backstory of _how_ Snape came to be so has not been explored. Minerva, obviously, is a co-owner of the house and would have been at the first. Kingsley is able to enter because Albus brings him, but he would not be able to come on his own.

Harry's feelings for Snape are far more complex than they were two years before. As to Sirius, he does in many ways fill the role you describe, but I think Remus would be remiss if he did not remind Sirius that he _is_ the adult, where Harry is the adolescent. Sirius _could_ use a friend… but he struggles to remember at times that Harry is not James; and that is not healthy for either of them. But yes, trust is a complex and sometimes detrimental thing… and those questions are meant to ring throughout this chapter and this story in general. I would not be so quick, incidentally, to assume Moody will play the same as in canon (hint!). Harry shows some maturity here in his demands on Severus' identity, and I think Severus is inwardly as pleased as yourself by the incident. While Remus discusses the need for trust this chapter, Severus' message is that trust can never be assumed. As to the individuality of magic bit… these questions on how Moody/Crouch fooled Albus in canon are precisely the right ones to ask. Some of the explanation will come… but I also will say that 'seeing' a magical aura is not really a visible thing – it is more of a sensation. And, as Severus hints, one can 'mask' their magical signature. To _change_ it to mirror another's is, however, impossible. I think in re-reading Goblet of Fire, it is interesting that Moody/Crouch performs little to no spellwork in the headmaster's presence.

Remus… he knows more than what he lets on. I am of the opinion that Remus has always been fairly observant, and – as you say – it was not as if their friendship could have gone unnoticed at school. Rowling herself has said several times that she believes James always knew Snape loved Lily, and that Remus too would not have been oblivious to this. Remus offers it here trying to draw Snape out… but yes, it does bring him into an even darker place. Severus' journey this book, as has been hinted since the summary itself, will be a dark one emotionally and magically.

Summer pranks – not out of the realm of possibility. That is all I will say at this time. House elves… well, I do think Harry knows them better in COH than he does in canon; he interacts with them particularly in COH I and II (we haven't had quite as much interaction in this book yet). I didn't go down the SPEW rabbit-hole in Part I because Hermione herself, while indignant, hadn't actually had much interaction with the elves before or seen what she considered derogation. It will probably play into this book at some point… but although I am in agreement that elf rights out to be represented more, I also agree with Rowling's general observation that Hermione's SPEW campaign, while admirable, misses the mark because it fails to account for the will of the very people (loose interpretation) that it seeks to protect. It is, however, quite true that this is a complex world with problems that stretch far beyond the good and the evil… indeed, most of the characters themselves are some shade of grey. I enjoy the elves – the canon ones and those I have introduced – but I worry that bringing them in too often detracts from the main story. Don't worry though – they will not go unseen.

As you have posted twice on it, I will offer for readers that I also highly encourage donation to Lumos – a fantastic organisation that James and I fully support. They have dozens of programmes and opportunities to get involved in the UK and around the world, so I do hope readers will consider donating or volunteering.

Enjoy Chapter Thirteen!

 **Guest** **(Second Guest Reviewer)** : Thank you for reviewing! Very glad to hear that you liked Chapter Eleven, and I do hope you'll enjoy this new instalment!


	13. Ignotus Peverell

**A/N:** I am particularly excited to share this instalment… and I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

With that, do enjoy 'Ignotus Peverell'!

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 **Ignotus Peverell**

For just a couple of days' stay, Harry was at a loss to explain how his belongings had become so scattered throughout the small cottage.

He took nearly an hour after breakfast collecting his various items from their eclectic locations – from the more predictable two pair socks gathering dust bunnies under the bed; to the broomstick that had managed to become lodged in the pantry; to the bewildering discovery of his Invisibility Cloak tied round the handle of a paddling oar that had been stuck up in the sand like a flag pole.

Sirius watched him from the veranda as he attempted to gather the last – the oar refusing to topple and seeming to grow higher and higher each time Harry jumped for the edge of the rippling silver fabric. His godfather was barrel-laughing when Remus at last appeared at the railing beside him, smiling himself as he flicked a charm at the oar so that Harry might claim his prized possession.

'Mustn't leave your valuables lying about,' Sirius chastised with a wicked grin as Harry finally ascended, red-faced and sandy.

'Go on and laugh,' Harry challenged. 'See what happens next time I pop round, why don't you.'

'Counting on it,' Sirius returned, clapping him on the shoulder.

Harry departed with Albus shortly thereafter. Minerva had left them after a hurried cup of tea to see to her final day of Muggle-born house calls. She had barely spoken to Harry at all over breakfast, but sipped at her tea through pursed lips with a very scarlet face. Harry noticed that Sirius did not dare poke fun at _her_ , the way he so easily had Harry.

To Harry's slight surprise, when he and Dumbledore Disapparated from the edge of the cliff-top they did not reappear at the foot of the Hogwarts gates. Instead, they landed along the edge of what looked like an animal pen behind a dingy building. One rather fat white goat raised its head at their appearance, a hunk of grass half-chewed in its mouth.

'The Hogs Head, from the rear,' Albus explained at Harry's raised eyebrow. 'Minerva informed me several nights ago that to put off a trip to the shops any longer would amount to criminal neglect, so I thought we might leave our things at the inn and return for a late luncheon when we finish.'

Harry, only to eager to see Aberforth again, immediately agreed. And anyway, he did have a good inch or two of ankle showing beneath the legs of his trousers. Albus opened an upper window of the inn with a wave of his hand and floated both their bags through the gap with his wand.

He led Harry down the high street, and they spent several hours ducking into the various shops. Without Minerva there to stay the headmaster's boyish eagerness, just getting to the Wizard Wear shop took quite a long time. They spent fifteen galleons in Honeydukes alone, where Albus had the smiling witch behind the counter send his six baskets of sweets up to the castle with a House-elf. They stopped in at Zonko's, where Harry made several carefully deliberated purchases – remembering that he owed Sirius for his trick that morning. Harry felt a pang as they passed the Quidditch supply shop; but, as he knew there would be no Quidditch Cup this year, he could not think of an excuse to force their entry. They did visit the bookshop next door, where Albus did most of the selecting. He was able to sort out Harry's entire booklist deftly, though Harry himself had yet to see it. He supplemented the necessary choices with a few additional texts, including a Runic syllabary and a small, very old book called _The Elements of Elemental Magics_.

'A bit outdated,' he told Harry, as the latter glanced interestedly through the Table of Contents. 'Elemental magic is no longer considered a distinct and separate field – rather, it is usually classified and taught as a subset of both Charms and Transfiguration. The author, however, does a decent job of discussing the nature of magic and how to recognise it, and I think it will have some applicability in our lessons over the next few months.'

It was well past midday by the time they finally entered Gladrags', and this stop took the longest of all. Harry had worked up a good sweat and an even better appetite before he'd managed to find four new sets of robes, several new pair trousers and blue jeans, a dozen new shirts, three new sets of boots, a new cloak, and more undergarments and socks then he could possibly wear in a lifetime. The headmaster sent these purchases to await them at Hogwarts as well, as he had done with the sweets and the books (Harry kept the Zonko's parcel in his pocket).

'It shall be rather a later luncheon than I had thought,' Albus observed, checking his odd pocket watch with the revolving planets as they strolled back up the high street in the direction of the Hogs Head.

Harry's stomach rumbled its agreement.

When they reached the pub, it looked as though Aberforth had seen to it yet again that their luncheon would not be disturbed by the usual patrons. The closed sign hung on the front door, and Albus muttered a tricky little harm at the handle before opening it and allowing Harry to pass through ahead of him.

'That you, Albus?' a muffled voice called from one of the back rooms. 'I'll be out in a mo. Got to spread the feed in the back.'

'Do you mind if I nip up to where you've put the bags?' Harry asked the headmaster. 'I might just change out of this shirt…'

He pulled at the collar of the fabric, which had felt comfortable with the strong breeze off the sea that morning but was now sweltering in the heat of the midsummer's day and after the rigours of their morning activity.

Albus nodded. 'Of course,' he agreed. 'I shall show you the way.'

He directed Harry through an unobtrusive door at the back of the main room and up a steep staircase beyond. A second door at the first-floor landing led into a long corridor interspliced with small, numbered doors. Suspiciously long, in fact – making Harry suspect the inn had been enchanted as to make this level even roomier than the pub below. A faded runner carpet in shades of gold and blue covered the length of the corridor, and Dumbledore led Harry down the full length of it to a larger door with no number at all. He used the same charm he had outside to release this lock as well.

The door opened into modest living quarters not unlike the professor apartments that Remus had occupied at the school the previous term. The immediate space appeared to be the sitting room. Harry could tell, however, that this was not a room for let.

'Are these Aberforth's rooms?' he asked curiously, looking back at the headmaster.

'They are,' Albus affirmed. 'And you shall find your bag on the sofa, I believe.'

Harry started forward toward the indicated place, but halfway there, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He paused.

A girl was smiling down at him from above the fireplace.

She was a very pretty girl. Everything about her seemed otherworldly and delicate, and Harry's first impression was that she looked like some sort of fairy… the way Muggles imagined them, rather than how he knew them to be. She wore an old-fashioned dress of white and blue, with matching ribbons tied up in her hair. She was very pale, but with a rose tint to her cheeks that suggested she had recently run through the scenery behind her. She had long, gently curling blonde hair. Not the white, harsh blonde he associated with the Malfoy family… but a softer, golden hue that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. She smiled charmingly at him, and blinked very familiar, ice blue eyes.

Harry turned back to Albus – astonishment and a deep empathetic grief warring in his chest.

'This is her,' he guessed in a whisper as he realised. 'Your sister, Ariana.'

'Yes,' Albus admitted, with a small, sad smile. 'This is Ariana's likeness, painted just a few months before her death.'

He did not offer any other explanation, but Harry turned back in wonder to the portrait. The girl had not moved again. She continued to smile at him. He studied her features. Delicate, yes… but he could not see any sign of the disease that had taken her.

'She was beautiful,' he told Albus softly.

'Yes,' the headmaster agreed. 'She was.'

The girl was still smiling, watching their conversation in the room before her. She did not speak. Harry found this odd – so many of the portraits at the castle never _stopped_ speaking.

'Er… hello,' he offered to her. 'I'm Harry. Harry Potter.'

He waited, but she gave no reply. Albus sighed behind him.

'Do not take offence,' he said quietly. 'She does not –'

'The Boy Who Lived.'

It was a soft, melodious voice – like a murmured spell upon the wind. Harry and Dumbledore both turned back to face the portrait, the headmaster with an audible intake of breath.

It did not come again.

Albus' breathing seemed to have hitched. 'Ariana?' he asked in a hushed voice, stepping closer to his painted sister.

He spoke in a tone Harry had never heard before from this man. Had he not been standing there now, he would not have believed it Dumbledore's at all…

Because he never would have imagined that Albus Dumbledore would beg.

'Ariana… say it again.'

But the girl did not. She just smiled that sweet, vacant smile, her eyes moving slowly between Harry and the headmaster once more. They both waited in silence several minutes, but it became clear that the girl would not speak again.

'I had not heard her voice in ninety-five years,' Albus lamented, watching his sister's portrait sadly. 'Not once… in hundreds of attempts.'

Harry did not know what to say.

Albus sighed. 'You should change,' he prompted, his voice heavy. 'Aberforth will be expecting us, and patience was never something he was known for.'

'Er… yes,' Harry said distractedly. He had forgotten entirely why they had come up in the first place. 'Yes… alright.'

'You can retrace the path to the pub?'

'I… yeah, I can.'

'Very good,' Albus said, with what seemed a strained attempt at a smile. 'I shall give you some privacy then.'

He gave his sister's face one last searching glance, and left Harry alone with the gilded frame.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'You look odd,' Aberforth grunted by way of greeting, heaving himself up into the booth across from the headmaster. 'Where's the boy?'

'He wished to change,' Albus explained. 'He should be down in a minute.'

Aberforth studied him more closely, his brow knit. 'What's happened?' he accused. 'Something's –'

'It is nothing,' Albus assured him. 'Just several long days.'

He did not know, precisely, why he did not wish to share what had occurred above. Perhaps because he had not quite worked through it himself. Perhaps because the subject of their sister was, even now, so fraught with pain and anger between them.

Aberforth looked unconvinced. He shot a shifty glance at the back staircase, but the door was still firmly closed.

'Is it _him_?' he guessed darkly. 'Because I tried to warn you, Albus…'

'Ah, Harry,' Albus said loudly, hitching a smile on his face as the door to the stairs opened. He stood, motioning the boy toward them.

Harry looked between them curiously. Hs own grin slipped a bit at the obvious tension.

'I was just telling Aberforth that you have been asked to attend the World Cup,' Albus covered lightly.

Harry's eyes danced with excitement, but he chewed his lip. 'You're not rethinking it?' he asked Albus nervously. 'Because –'

'No, not at all,' Albus reassured him. 'We may need to take some precautions, just in case… but I see no reason why you should not be allowed to enjoy the match.'

'Don't see the point in all the fuss,' Aberforth grumbled in mock disinterest as he summoned a butterbeer for Harry with a flick of his wand. 'Seems obvious to me Bulgaria's flattening their way to victory this season. Match out to be a blow-out, no matter who they're facing.'

'Come off it!' Harry countered, snagging the drink with a nod of thanks and hopping up onto the stool at the end. 'Wales put in a decent show on Wednesday. And Ireland's got the best front three in the tourney. Didn't you read up on the match with Sweden Tuesday last?'

'Rubbish,' Aberforth teased. 'Lynch isn't fit to pick the flies out of Krum's tail switch.'

'The Seeker's just one player,' Harry insisted. 'Krum's brilliant, and he's pulled it out for Bulgaria nearly every time… but they were behind in their last three before he managed a catch. Up against the Irish front, he'd have to get pretty lucky to find the Snitch in time.'

'We'll see,' said Aberforth. 'Meantime – tell me what's new with your godfather.'

'You know Sirius?' Harry asked, surprised.

Aberforth rolled his eyes with a dark chuckle. 'The stories I could tell you, boy…'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'So… what news of Albus?'

The old man's voice spoke before Bill had even shut the door.

He did so, taking his time to ensure his shields were intact. When at last he turned, Grindelwald's shrewd violet eyes were fixed on him in a manner that suggested he registered the delay for what it was.

The sparse tower room had undergone a few changes since his last visit. Curtesy, Bill suspected, of Albus' tolerance. A low, sturdy table of polished wood now rested in front of the hearth – which blazed with a more comfortable fire than had previously graced this forsaken hall. Two high-backed chairs with red velvet cushioning opposed each other across the broad surface of the table. On one, a handsome golden eagle perched – inspecting him distrustfully through yellow eyes. As Bill drew nearer, she took flight in a soft rush of wings, spiralling to the very top of the tower's ceiling before folding her wings to her side and shooting through a moonlit slit in the stone like a well-aimed Bludger.

He watched her leave, and raised an eyebrow at his companion.

Grindelwald smiled. 'The eagle always chooses the highest eyrie,' he said. 'Most probably she seeks a nesting site.'

'She seeks uncommonly well,' Bill noted suspiciously. 'That exit must have taken practise.'

Grindelwald's smile widened. 'Flüstern was never a slow learner,' he admitted. 'Indeed… for a non-magical being, she is remarkably fast.'

Bill eyed the slit in the wall warily once more. Grindelwald gave a wheezy chuckle.

'What fear have you, boy?' he mocked. 'She may be a pretty bird… but even she cannot bear me beyond Dumbledore's enchantments. A man of solitude takes companions where he can find them.'

'And a man of cunning makes use of every one,' Bill muttered back.

Grindelwald inclined his head. 'You are learning,' he approved.

He pushed back from his desk – which, Bill noted, was not quite as derelict as he remembered – and shuffled forward to join the younger wizard at the table. He lowered himself into the high-backed chair across as though it were a throne, the dancing flames behind him casting shadows that nearly masked the threadbare state of his robes. In just a shade dimmer light, he might have been lord of his own hall once more.

'So tell me, Bill Weasley… what news of Albus Dumbledore?'

Bill sank into his own chair reluctantly. The arrangement made him feel rather lower than his counterpart.

'I have relayed your message,' he acknowledged, once he had sat. 'The headmaster has decided to trace the locket through the channels we suggested.'

'Indeed,' Grindelwald mused, looking pleased. 'And did he share his intentions on the matter?'

Bill frowned. 'I did not inquire further,' he said. 'Dumbledore indicated he would start with Borgin and Burkes. I dare say we shall hear from him once that portion is complete.'

'And how do you suppose he will glean the information from the shopkeeper?' Grindelwald asked, as though he were conducting some sort of tutorial.

Bill scowled. 'I suppose he will ask,' he said bluntly.

The wizard smirked. 'That is one method,' he said, as though he doubted it. 'Knockturn Alley proprietors, however, are not always so keen to divulge information. Nor, as you well know, is this quest one that Albus wishes widely known. I would proffer more… alternative means may be necessary.'

Bill's eyes hardened. 'Albus Dumbledore does not resort to cruelty,' he dismissed.

'The world is built by the efforts of cruel men, Mr Weasley. Cruelty in one man's eyes is necessity in another's,' Grindelwald said, snapping his fingers so that their usual tea appeared. 'I have known Albus Dumbledore much longer than you, my young friend. He is not so white as that beard may suggest.'

'And how exactly do you know him?' Bill asked casually as he stirred in a lump of sugar. 'From that day in May, was it?'

Grindelwald, despite the clear barb, merely chuckled hoarsely again. 'Oh, our acquaintance stretches far beyond that, boy. Many decades before… and many since. Before you were even a thought; before even your parents were thoughts; Albus and I were shaping the world. Magic is as you know it because we made it so.'

It was a tantalising hint – not unlike the few Bill had picked up from the headmaster himself in Hogsmeade. Every fibre of his brain cried out for the answers… but Albus' own words stayed his tongue.

For as maddening as the headmaster's advice had been, it had been true. He must not show his hand again.

'Tell me,' Grindelwald went on, before Bill could master his thoughts. 'How well do you know this Harry Potter?'

Bill raised an eyebrow. 'I don't,' he said, truthfully. 'I've never met him before.'

'But he is Albus' ward,' the wizard pressed. 'And a friend of your youngest brother…'

'Yes,' Bill agreed. 'But I've been in Egypt since before Ron went to school. I haven't met any of his friends from Hogwarts.'

'But you are returning next month, surely, for the Quidditch final?' Grindelwald guessed, watching Bill over the rim of his teacup. 'You will make his acquaintance by then, I dare say.'

Bill set his tea back in its saucer rather harder than he had planned. He had to jerk his hand away as the still-hot brew sloshed over the sides.

'And why would you assume that?' he asked – a bit violently for his smarting fingers.

Grindelwald smirked once more. 'An educated guess,' he said. 'You wear the symbol of the Chudley Canons on your wand holster. You have two brothers currently playing for the school. And it is no secret that the final shall be played in England this year. Harry Potter is your brother's best friend, and a Seeker himself. Not a difficult leap to make, that your paths might cross at such an important event.'

'Perhaps I shall,' Bill admitted gruffly. 'And perhaps not. I have no idea what Dumbledore's plans are for Harry. But even so, Grindelwald… Harry Potter is none of your concern.'

'Isn't he?' Grindelwald challenged, setting his own tea aside. 'I disagree. I assure you I am very _much_ concerned with the Potter child. Very much indeed. It is an acquaintance I myself am most eager to make.'

Something of a thrill of dread seeped through Bill's chest as the old wizard spoke. 'It will never happen,' he warned. 'Dumbledore would not bring Harry here…'

'Oh, the boy will come, one day,' Grindelwald countered lightly. 'I am very rarely wrong.'

'Our task is the Horcrux situation,' Bill said firmly. 'Harry Potter does not factor in.'

'Perhaps you are not learning quite as quickly as I'd hoped, Mr Weasley,' Grindelwald disagreed as he pulled several sheets of inked up parchment toward himself, seemingly out of thin air. 'Harry Potter… is everything.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry and Albus returned the castle after their late luncheon with Aberforth, and Harry spent the rest of the afternoon putting away his many purchases of the day and the contents of the bag he had brought to Shell Cottage. He wrote back excitedly to Ron to confirm he could attend the Quidditch World Cup, and to ask him whether he might be able to come to the castle to celebrate his birthday in a fortnight. He scrawled a hurried note at the bottom of the letter he had written to Hermione while away to ask the same, and gave both notes to Hedwig for delivery. He met Albus and Minerva down in the Great Hall for supper, and had the chance to catch up with Hagrid – who had put in an appearance that evening. He was pleasantly surprised to see that Snape was absent tonight. After supper, Harry was quite ready for bed – exhausted by the long day. But Dumbledore wanted him to practise Occlumency before sleep again, and so they spent half an hour in the study before Harry finally turned in, utterly spent.

Hedwig did not return until Monday morning, when Harry was having a bit of a late breakfast in the Great Hall. Albus had left early for London, and only professors Snape and McGonagall were at the table when Harry entered. He grinned at the sight of the snowy owl awaiting him, helping herself to a platter of bacon. Hedwig was joined by an owl he did not recognise, who also watched Harry's approach to the table: a handsome tawny, with a stiff appearance. Harry claimed his seat and took Hermione's letter first, stealing his own helping of bacon from under Hedwig's possessive gaze.

'Excellent,' he said to Minerva as he reached the end of it. 'She's agreed to come! And I know Ron will. You're certain it's alright?'

'Yes of course,' Minerva said.

Grinning, Harry turned next to the unfamiliar owl. It held out its leg with almost comical solemnity to allow him to detach the letter, and Harry took it curiously. He didn't recognise the looping, neat handwriting that had penned 'Harry Potter' on the front as he broke the seal.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I hope you're well, and that you've had a lovely summer so far. Sorry to be writing you a bit out of the blue… I'm sure you'll think it's odd. But I've thought a lot about you over the past few weeks – after that awful night at the end of term. The Ministry's saying Sirius Black nearly got you; it's been all over_ The Prophet _. I suppose you've had a lucky escape. I saw a cutting last week that said he's thought to be somewhere in Belgium now, and Fudge has agreed to take the Dementors back to Azkaban. I hope it's true. It makes me ill to think of another year with those horrible creatures about the school, not to mention Black himself._

 _Anyway… the whole thing has made me think about what we heard that day in Trelawney's room. I hope it hasn't got you down. Remember what I said, Harry. Prophecy is a complicated magic, and it's quite imprecise. Worrying about it won't solve anything._

 _Have you been keeping up with the World Cup? Mum's taking me for the Final – I'm so excited! I think quite a lot of people from school will be there. If you're going, perhaps we'll see each other._

 _Cheers,_

 _Cho_

Harry read the letter three times over, his face heating a bit.

His first thought was panic. Why was she writing him? Did she expect, perhaps, that _he_ would have written _her_ , after that odd conversation in the stifling North Tower? Did she think him a prat, because he hadn't?

But no… that couldn't make sense. After all, she hadn't been unnerved by the seer's dire prediction, like he had. If anything, she probably thought him a right coward, the way it had shaken him that day. It had been their only proper conversation. He could not have been expected to realise that meant they ought to keep in correspondence over the summer.

Could he?

And what did she mean… she'd 'thought a lot' about him?

Because of Sirius – because she thought, like most of the world, that he had come to try to kill Harry that night? Because of Trelawney's prophecy and how spooked it had made him? Or, was this supposed to mean something else…

The thought made his stomach squirm. He couldn't decide if the feeling was pleasurable.

And now what? Was he expected to write back?

Well – surely. It would probably be rude not to, and then she'd _definitely_ think he was a prat.

But what would he say in a letter to her?

He should ask about her summer too, he supposed. He did not know much about Cho – not where she lived, or what her family was like… He knew her mother was a seer; but that seemed an awkward topic for conversation in a letter.

He couldn't write the truth about Sirius… yet he'd probably seem like he was putting on false bravado, if he glossed over the incident entirely. He definitely couldn't validate what _The Daily Prophet_ said – that wouldn't be fair to Sirius.

He couldn't tell her the prophecy _was_ true; that he knew, for certain, Voldemort's servant _had_ returned to him… that the Dark Lord _was_ attempting to rise again with his aid… that he had his own odd semblance of visions to prove it. She'd probably think him mad.

Perhaps he'd write about the Cup. Yes… that seemed alright. He could tell her he was going with Ron and the Weasleys. Maybe he _would_ see her there.

That thought sent his stomach squirming again.

'Potter!'

Harry jumped at the sharp tone, snapped out of his spiralled thoughts. Snape was standing at the opposite end of the table, arms folded and eyes flashing in a manner that told Harry plainly this was not the Potions Master's first attempt to capture his wandering attention.

'Really, Severus,' Minerva chastised, remonstrating with her fork as she flicked the top of the newspaper down to glare. 'Is it necessary to shout in the Great Hall?'

'We are already ten minutes behind schedule,' Snape retorted without repentance. 'I have business with the headmaster when he returns. Potter – my classroom, now.'

Harry pushed back from the table with a sigh, stuffing both his letters into his pocket. This morning's was a Potions lesson – and he was already regretting that he had not opened the requisite books while at Shell Cottage. He realised, with a sickening jolt, that he hadn't glanced over the Potions summer assignment at all.

Snape swept out of the room without bothering to wait. Harry was two steps into following when a thought occurred to him. He turned.

'Minerva?'

She looked up over the edge of her newspaper again with a questioning eyebrow.

'Might I… Do you think I might ask Neville to come? At my birthday, I mean?'

Minerva looked surprised. 'I don't see why not,' she said slowly, sounding confused. 'But you have never seemed particularly close with him.'

Harry shrugged. 'I just… I'd like to, if that's alright.'

'Of course,' Minerva said primly. 'I had actually planned to see Augusta later this week. I shall ask her for you, if you like.'

Harry smiled. 'Sounds great,' he agreed.

'POTTER!'

The shout echoed from the direction of the entrance hall, and Harry scrambled to answer it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus snapped the door shut smoothly behind the boy. He had been thinking about the contents of this lesson all week-end.

'New scheme for today, Potter,' he told the boy as he dropped his bag at the foot of the sole student desk in the centre of the room.

Potter glanced up. 'Aren't we on Potions today?' he asked, looking a bit worried.

Severus inclined his head. 'We are,' he agreed. 'I have decided that as you are so insistent on depleting the stocks of the school's healing potions, it is high time you learned to brew replacements yourself.'

Potter looked intrigued, but then his brow furrowed. 'But… most of those are O.W.L. level at least, aren't they, sir?'

'They are,' Severus agreed. 'But there are a few more simplistic remedies that I expect even you can manage… unless you wish to suffer my displeasure. Merlin knows you have enough weeks to perfect them before your little friends invade my dungeons again.'

He flicked his wand at the cupboard behind his own desk so that a large tome shot out.

'You will not find the receipt in your current textbook,' he told Potter unnecessarily. 'Turn to page 721.'

'Invigoration Draught,' Potter read out from the top of the page. 'The same one you've been dosing me with at the end of wandless lessons?'

Severus smirked. 'At least you should be able to recognise a correct brew, I should think,' he mocked. 'All to the better. I have decided to add incentive to this assignment as well. You shall be dosed for the remainder of the summer, Potter, with the brew you manage. Take great care with the ingredients… or be prepared to languish in hospital wing should you get it wrong.'

'Albus wouldn't let you make me drink a botched potion!' Potter cried, outraged.

Severus sneered. ' _I_ would not allow you to drink a botched potion,' he clarified. 'But until you produce a correct brew, Potter – you shall have no potion at all. Magical exhaustion, as I am sure you remember, is neither a trifling nor enjoyable experience. I suggest you brew with the utmost care.'

Potter scowled, but turned without further comment toward the student store cupboard. Severus stepped smoothly to block his path.

'I do not think so,' he said.

'But – I don't have all these in my own stores,' Potter pointed out, gesturing to the long list of ingredients. 'I'm not supposed to _forage_ for them again, am I? That will take –'

'No,' Severus interrupted. 'You will Summon them. Wandlessly. One by one.'

Potter groaned. 'Again?' he complained. 'But we just did the Summoning Charm –'

'And you showed your usual incompetence,' Severus finished for him. 'It needs work, Potter. I have told you repeatedly it is among the most important wandless spells you will learn. So, summon each ingredient from the cupboard. Then brew the potion. That is your assignment.'

Potter sighed as he handed over his wand. Severus pocketed it. 'Begin,' he said lazily, walking toward his own desk.

'Oh,' he added, turning and affecting the tone of an afterthought, 'And… you shall need, of course, to open the cupboard first. It is locked. I'm afraid I do not recall which charm I used.'

Potter glared.

Shockingly, it took only a few tries for the boy to manage unlocking the cupboard. Severus was pleased. Apparently, he had learned something from that arduous task with the chests that had taken them months the previous year. Summoning, however, brought the usual bout of ineptitude.

'I don't understand it!' Potter growled on his fifth failed attempt. 'They just _won't_ come!'

He slapped the desk hard in frustration, nearly sending the textbook toppling over the side.

Severus snarled, opening his mouth to lecture, but the sound of the hand against wood suddenly triggered a memory…

 _A small, black haired boy, pulled roughly from behind a plastic play fence and smacked sharply across the backside…_

He cut himself off mid-word, a new realisation solidifying.

'Sit, Potter,' he commanded, using his own wandless magic to pull the chair forward, knocking the boy's knees from under him so that he thumped into the seat. Potter gave a satisfying little yelp of surprise as he was flung off his feet.

Severus rose, sweeping back around his own desk to lean against the front edge. He crossed his arms and fixed Potter with his most intimidating stare.

'Why can't you Summon?' he asked point blank.

Potter glared. 'If I knew that, sir,' he said through gritted teeth, 'Then I wouldn't _have_ such a problem, would I?'

'But you do know it,' the professor disagreed. 'You have only to access the knowledge.'

The boy merely stared. 'What on earth is that supposed to mean?'

Severus scowled. He despised playing the counsellor. This was _Albus's_ territory, by choice… but then, Severus supposed he had signed himself up for this particular snag, the day he had agreed to instruct the boy in wandless spellwork.

'Tell me, boy,' he said in a bored voice, 'What sort of feats of accidental magic did you perform as a child?'

Potter frowned. 'We've been over this,' he said. 'We talked about it in my very first –'

'You know my feelings on repeating myself,' Severus snapped. 'I assure you, I do not rehash the conversation for my own benefit.

The boy sighed. 'I…'

And then he paused, frowning.

'I used to do it,' he realised quietly. 'Loads of times. I've seen it – in the memories I have, the memories of my parents. I summoned the cat once… when I was only a baby. It was before my mum and dad…'

'And what about after?' Severus pressed on, before they both became stuck in Godric's Hollow. 'When you lived with your aunt and uncle?'

'I… I did,' said Potter, brow furrowed in concentration. 'I used to, I think, when I was quite small. I remember… and my aunt would get furious.' His eyes widened at the memory. 'She shouted at me. She used to spank me for it – telling me I was taking Dudley's things. That I was acting unnaturally. It was the only time she ever actually struck me, I think. It was normally Uncle Vernon who…'

He trailed off, face heating at the slip. Severus felt his own blood simmering in his veins.

'Who what, Potter?' he demanded quietly.

But the boy's face had grown stony. 'Nothing, sir,' he said stiffly. 'It was usually Vernon who got angry, that's all. Aunt Petunia would get snippy, or she'd purse her lips so hard they looked likely to stay that way forever. Uncle Vernon was the shouter.'

'And the one who used force?' Severus needled.

Potter's eyes flashed. 'Not often,' he spat defensively. 'And nothing like what happened the night Albus came. But what would _you_ know about it, anyway? Why do you care? I remember the charm, alright? I did it loads of times when I was small – but that doesn't explain why –'

'It explains everything,' Severus countered, raising his voice to drown Potter's heated tone. 'You cannot perform a proper Summoning Charm except under great pressure, Potter. The reason for this highly inconvenient block in your ability is not magical – it is psychological.'

'You're calling me mad?' the boy challenged.

'No,' Severus disagreed, his frayed patience wearing thin. 'I am pointing out the obvious. Magic is connected to our mental and emotional state, just as it is to our physical wellbeing. The Magical Core intersects all. _You_ associate the Summoning Charm with punishment; specifically, with punishment for _being_ Magical. You have taught yourself to repress it, and continue to do so subconsciously, even as you make an effort to perform it now.'

All semblance of anger faded from Potter's face. He looked suddenly pale and frightened. 'I… I'm repressing my Magic?' he echoed shakily.

Severus frowned at him. 'You are suppressing _this_ magic, yes,' he agreed. 'And you will continue to find the charm elusive, until you can find a way to move past the block you have erected against it.'

'But… how do I do that, sir?'

Severus pushed himself off the desk. 'As to that, Potter,' he said, walking back around to reclaim his chair, 'I cannot say. You are able to perform the charm, it seems to me, when your need to have the summoned object surpasses any unconscious strength of desire to abstain. I would suggest you work to make something _else_ the focus of such need. What that might be for you… only you can decide. Personally, I would suggest developing a thirst to prove yourself in spite of your relations' cruelty – to defy them, in short. I suspect if you were to ask Albus, he would have a different suggestion.'

Potter stared from his seat, his face somewhat desperate.

'And I _suggest_ ,' Severus went on, returning to his mockery, 'That you find this inner strength rather quickly. You have ninety minutes remaining in this lesson… and in your current maladroit state, you shall find tomorrow evening quite deplorable if you do not have an Invigoration Draught to revive you.'

Potter sat for more than five minutes in silence frowning at the desk top. Severus let him, flipping idly through the latest _Practical Potioneer_ in a state of apparent disinterest while he listened for the boy's next attempt.

At last, there came a quiet, ' _Accio!_ '

Severus glanced up to see a sprig of peppermint shoot past, landing softly on Potter's desk.

' _Accio!_ ´

Two phials of elderflower extract met Potter's hand.

' _Accio! Accio! Accio!_ ´

Again and again the boy commanded, until each and every one of the twenty-two ingredients had found its way to his place. Severus laid aside the journal and summoned a cauldron himself.

'A marked improvement,' he observed. 'Your will to defy them is clearly an effective catalyst.'

But Potter shook his head. 'That's not what I used,' he disagreed.

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'Pray tell then, Potter… how did you manage to circumvent the block?'

Potter did not look at him immediately, but he smiled slightly as he accepted back his wand and prodded the base of the cauldron. When he raised his eyes at last to the professor, they were full of the fiery determination that Severus recognised so well.

'My magic is _my_ magic – it isn't something that I'm learning to spite the Dursleys,' Potter claimed. 'So it was easy… when I remembered that they don't define me, anymore.'

Severus almost smiled. 'Quite so,' he agreed with a short inclination of his head. He checked the clock on the wall. 'Seventy minutes,' he warned the boy. 'No time for mistakes, Potter. Begin.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The knock at the door distracted the headmaster from his thoughts.

'Enter,' he called.

His eyes twinkled in amusement as Harry sidled through. The boy had taken lately to knocking at every turn.

'You do realise,' Albus said lightly, 'That these rooms are as much yours as my own. At least while school is not in session, you have no need to announce your arrival.'

Harry coloured a bit, staring resolutely at Fawkes' empty perch over Albus' shoulder to hide his embarrassment. 'I… er, just don't want to interrupt,' he hedged. 'In case you had visitors or… something.'

'Indeed,' Albus said, his smile widening. 'Well, come in, come in. And have a seat. I have something I wish to give you.'

Harry came curiously into the sitting area, taking the indicated seat on the sofa and one of the lemon cakes that had popped up on the side table. Albus joined him in his usual armchair, fingering the book he had finally retrieved from his bedchamber. The worn leather of the cover was smooth as silk beneath his fingers.

'I have been thinking,' he began. 'That you may benefit from a perusal of this.'

He passed the ancient tome over to the boy. Harry took it, and frowned at the inscrutable surface.

'What is it?' he asked, lifting the cover with careful fingers.

'An ancient collection of fables,' Albus explained. 'Written – or, perhaps, merely collected – by a wizard called Beedle the Bard. Have you ever heard of him?'

Harry looked puzzled. 'No…' he said slowly. 'Should I have done?'

Albus smiled and shook his head. 'Not necessarily,' he assured him. 'Beedle's stories are rather well known among wizarding children; not unlike the fairy stories that are told to their Muggle counterparts. I dare say many of your friends will have heard them.'

'They're wizarding fairy tales?' Harry asked, looking more confused. 'But I'm… er… well…'

His face went a bit scarlet, but at Albus' twinkling smile of encouragement he admitted: 'It's just… I'm a bit old for that, don't you think?'

Albus shook his head again. 'They are fables, or parables,' he clarified. 'But not true fairy stories. Each has an important lesson to teach… and, arguably, some basis in historical events. They are not intended for children alone.'

Harry studied the first page. 'It's all in symbols,' he realised. 'I can't read them.'

'No, not yet,' Albus agreed. 'But that is why I am giving you this assignment. You will learn. These are the stories in their original version – written in Ancient Runes.'

'But… we haven't started Ancient Runes yet,' Harry pointed out, looking up from the page.

'Ah,' Albus said, smiling. 'As a matter of fact, we shall start tomorrow. As you progress with the study of Runes, I should like you to work through the stories.'

'That might take years,' said Harry.

Albus inclined his head. 'It most certainly may,' he agreed. 'But an assignment worth the effort, I promise you.'

Harry narrowed his eyes. 'Why?' he asked. 'What's in the book?'

'A great deal,' Albus said, enigmatically. 'Many stories. Many secrets. Many answers… and many more questions. I shall discuss them with you, in due course.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Gellert walked them off the pavement, stepping carefully between the mismatched headstones. When they had found reprieve from the soft mist beneath the coverings of ash, elm and willow overhead, he paused and leaned himself against a large, ornately carved angel._

 _'I told you in London that I would show you what I had seen,' he reminded Albus, shifting the conversation. 'And now, I shall.'_

 _Albus crossed his arms. 'What do you mean, seen?' he queried. 'How could you have seen the Master of Death? There has never_ been _a Master of Death, Gellert.'_

 _The other wizard smiled. 'No,' he agreed. 'Not since the Hallows were separated so many centuries ago have they been united by one hand… but their time is coming, Albus._ His _time is coming. And Godric's Hollow holds the key. I have foreseen it.'_

 _Albus' scepticism grew, as he realised what Gellert was hinting at._

 _'You are a Seer?' he clarified dubiously._

 _He had never taken Divination at school, but he had read enough about the subject to doubt its consistency, in the main. True Sight was among the rarest of all magical gifts, and Albus rather felt it best that way. All the literature on the topic suggested that prophecy was often impossible to interpret, and in itself something that never came without cost. All that aside… Gellert Grindelwald hardly seemed ethereal enough for the role. Albus had always associated seers with immense age, physical weakness, or flighty idiosyncrasy. Gellert – young, confident and elegant with his expensive high-cut robes and sweeping flaxen hair – hardly looked the part._

 _Gellert, however, merely shrugged. 'I have had the gift since early childhood,' he explained, as though he were simply pointing out a birthmark. 'It is fairly useless, much of the time… but every so often, it is everything.'_

 _Albus, still doubtful, looked him up and down. The younger wizard seemed to know what he was thinking. He laughed._

 _'Truly,' he insisted._

 _'And you… what?' Albus pressed suspiciously. 'You_ saw _the Deathly Hallows here – in Godric's Hollow?'_

 _Gellert snorted. 'If only it were that simple,' he lamented. 'No… no, not as such. Prophecy, as you must know, takes many different forms. It is one of the reasons Divination is such a difficult study. There is very little uniform about it; and the Sight itself, of course, can be little taught.'_

 _'I am familiar with the theory,' Albus said. 'Although I must confess, I never did study the subject at any great length.'_

 _Gellert smiled. 'Perhaps in this, then,' he suggested, '_ I _am more knowledgeable than yourself.'_

 _Albus inclined his head with a sardonic smile of his own. 'Perhaps,' he allowed._

 _Gellert leaned back against the headstone, thinking it over. 'Visions,' he said, 'Encompass all manner of things for seers. Premonition is not necessarily visual at all. Sometimes it manifests as a sensation; other times, an emotion. For some, it is as if a voice whispers in the ear. For others, scenes or even sets of scenes may be viewed as though through a looking glass. And sometimes, of course, the Seer in his trance foretells his prophecy and immediately becomes ignorant of that which he has glimpsed – entrusting the knowledge only to whatever souls may have witnessed the telling.'_

 _'I am aware of how the Sight works, generally,' Albus said, growing impatient with the long prelude. 'Pray tell, what vision did_ you _experience?'_

 _'My visions are of the pictorial kind,' Gellert said, seemingly impervious to Albus' impatience. 'And I, fortunately, am not afflicted with that terrible curse which might rip the visions from me. My price, on the other hand, is in some ways more frustrating still… for I See imperfectly.'_

 _'What do you mean?' asked Albus suspiciously. 'How can you prophesise imperfectly? You see more than one possibility? Conflicting futures?'_

 _'No,' Gellert said. 'I mean literally, my Sight is hampered. I see glimpses – flashes – of a scene or series… but something is always missing. A face is shrouded in darkness; a spell impossible to hear; the vision cuts off before a pivotal moment; or the order of a series of events is impossible to discern from the brevity of their images. It is a maddening complication.'_

 _'Yes, I would imagine so,' agreed Albus. 'But you have yet to tell me, Gellert, what it is that you saw of Godric's Hollow.'_

 _Gellert did not answer. Instead, he pushed his hips off the angel's staff on which he'd been reposing, and walked past Albus between the graves – deeper into the churchyard. Albus followed – frustration giving way to a pang of mourning. They were very close to where Kendra lay beneath the earth. Beyond the willow to his right, he could still see the wreath of roses they had laid only weeks before – wilting in the foggy afternoon._

 _But Gellert did not turn toward the familiar marker._

 _He walked back instead toward the direction of the church… heading for the most ancient of the many graves. The stones here were weathered and crumbling with immense age. Moss and lichen grew heavily over the dates. Many of the names had been rubbed away with the years, or become impossible to read for the bits of stone that had been chipped by rains. Of those Albus could discern, he recognised very few. Most of these families must have long since faded from history._

 _Gellert stopped in front of a large, very eroded looking gravestone of the type that covered the length of the grave entirely. This was all to the better, Albus thought, for this portion of the yard was so ancient that the slight slope of the hill had shifted many of the upright stones, clumping them through the years closer and closer together – no doubt many paces from their original owners._

 _The numbers on this stone were barely legible… but Albus could make out that the bones beneath dated to the thirteenth century. He could tell at once that the occupant of the grave must have been Wizard, for the tombstone was made of carved granite – something rarely seen in the Muggle world before the advent this past century of their sandblasters._

 _'Do you see?' Gellert asked, very quietly._

 _Albus frowned. He moved closer, following the other wizard's gaze._

 _And he saw it – etched near to the top of the dark stone. It had been weathered, like everything else… but it was undeniably there._

 _'The Sign of the Deathly Hallows,' he breathed, incredulous. He glanced at the dates again, and then up to the worn name. 'Ig… Ignotus, I think,' he read out. 'Ignotus Peverell.'_

 _'Ignotus Peverell…' Gellert repeated._

 _He traced the name, as he had traced the sign. He glanced past Albus, into the darkened graveyard, as though seeing something Albus could not. His gaze was so glazed for several seconds that Albus nearly broke the silence… but just as he opened his mouth to do so, Gellert's violet eyes refocused on him. For a moment, their stare was locked. Then Gellert nodded back at the stone._

 _'Tell me,' he breathed quietly. 'What do you think?'_

 _Albus adjusted his spectacles on his nose, sweeping his hair back into a conjured ribbon out of the way. He crouched down at the head of the slab, considering the markings more closely._

 _'The dates are likely true,' he noted. 'The stone is certainly thirteenth century…'_

 _He ran a hand gently over the etched border. 'Runic markings,' he noted. 'Impossible to discern, with the weathering of the years. We could try to restore them with a spell, but…'_

 _'But?' Gellert pressed, looking interested._

 _Albus shook his head. 'I doubt its effect,' he admitted. 'These are not Runes with power remaining – merely decoration. Goblin carved, unless I am much mistaken.'_

 _He tried a few spells anyway for good measure. Gellert watched, intrigued, but did not offer his own hand. Albus was unsurprised to find the efforts futile._

 _'What of the Sign?' Gellert asked._

 _Albus frowned at it. 'It seems just as old as the tomb,' he conjectured. 'Most likely put there at Mr Peverell's interment. Wand made, and the name. Done by the same hand. You see here?'_

 _He pointed to the 'O' of Ignotus, and then to the circle that represented the Stone. Gellert frowned at the indicated markings, but shrugged._

 _'The small indentation at eighty degrees,' Albus explained._

 _'A mark of erosion,' Gellert dismissed, but Albus shook his head._

 _'I do not think so,' he disagreed. 'The wizard or witch who did the carving had impaired range of motion in the wrist. The fluctuation at precisely the same point in the circle denotes the place where his or her rotation was hampered. The remainder of the circle was strong… but here, a weakness. Most likely a family member did the engraving… that would have been traditional.'_

 _Gellert nodded pensively._

 _'Ignotus Peverell…' he repeated yet again. He glanced to Albus. 'Do you know anything of the family?'_

 _Albus frowned, thinking about it. 'No,' he admitted after a moment. 'I have never made the acquaintance of a Peverell that I can recall… nor do I ever remember reading it before. And I am rather good with names.'_

 _Gellert ran a finger along his lips. 'I do not know it either,' he said. 'But the dates are curious…'_

 _Albus thought it over as they stared down at the crumbling stone again. 'They are before the publication of Beedle's stories,' he observed. 'At least two centuries.'_

 _'Yes…' Gellert agreed. 'Yes, that is what is curious. It is just possible that Ignotus figures in the tale.'_

 _Albus looked sharply up. 'You think he is a Brother?' he asked, a thrill running up his spine. 'One of the Three?'_

 _Gellert cocked a crooked smile. 'It's possible, isn't it? He is the proper age…'_

 _Albus frowned at the dates again. 'Then he would have to be the third…' he mused. 'The youngest – the owner of the Cloak. He was too old at the time of his death to have been the elder or the middle.'_

 _'Undoubtedly,' Gellert agreed. 'And that is easily checked. I would wager that Batty alone has resources in the house that could aide us in researching the name.'_

 _Albus leaned his elbows on the grave, folding his hands at his chin. 'It is possible we have books of some use as well,' he mused. 'My father had a collection based in genealogy. They are not among those I have perused at length, but I'm certain I know where to look.'_

 _'We have our start then,' Gellert decided, looking eager._

 _But Albus, straightening from his crouch, frowned once more. 'But I do not understand,' he said, staring at his fellow. 'Did you see the grave in your vision? The symbol upon it? How does this connect with your premonition?'_

 _Gellert shook his head, his smile still in place. 'The grave, yes,' he agreed. 'The churchyard too… though it was months later. Snow lay thick upon the ground. I could not make out the name from my vantage… but the symbol, I saw most clearly. And that was not all.'_

 _He stepped up to the tombstone again, fingering his own version of the symbol – which, Albus noticed, was now hung around his neck by a length of rope._

 _'I saw the Master of Death,' Gellert informed him, running surreptitious fingers over the silver. 'I saw him – standing right here… a girl at his side. Their faces were hidden from my view – but I know the vision was true. I could sense it. They both of them had power… but the boy –_ he _would become Master. He had the Cloak with him – there at the grave. I could feel its very essence…'_

 _He looked up at Albus, his face transposed._

 _'There was another too,' he confessed. 'I saw him later. Three figures, stood together on a clifftop – as if they would conquer the world.'_

 _Albus watched him in fascination. 'But you could not see their faces,' he clarified, refusing to acknowledge the heady swell of power he could feel in his own being at the words. 'You cannot know –'_

 _'I did not,' Gellert affirmed. 'But my visions have always brought me one constant, Albus. I See that which will affect my_ own _life. I have dreamed of the Hallows for a decade – just think of what they could do, my friend! Just think of the new world order they could create… a golden age, for the era of Magic. If only they could be reunited…'_

 _'If we find the three…' Albus said. 'The three Hallows, and the three people…'_

 _'We are halfway there,' Gellert said in a rush. He leaned forward, grasping Albus' hands in his own. 'Do you not see, Albus? I did_ not _know the three in the vision… but I know it now. It is you and I – my dear friend. The greatest powers of our generation. And the girl… the girl must be your sister.'_

 _'Ariana?' Albus repeated, astonished. 'But… how could it have been? You have seen her – you have heard… she_ cannot _change the world, Gellert. She can hardly manage through the day…'_

 _'Because she has been forced into oppression!' Gellert insisted, squeezing his grip harder. 'Because of what_ they _have done to her. But she has power, Albus… oh yes, great power. You can feel it yourself. Why do you think her demon rages so strong? It is not merely her age, Albus… it is her Core.'_

 _Albus knew he was right. Had he not just had this very conversation with his brother? Had they not deduced the same thing?_

 _And what had his father said, the very night that Ariana had revealed the parasitic force…_

 _'Her magic is strong – stronger even than either of the boys'…_

 _'I must keep her safe,' he said, though with less conviction, as he fought the visions of glory and greatness that teemed in his mind. 'I cannot gallivant across the globe in search of legends, Gellert. I have responsibilities here… to Ariana, to Aberforth.'_

 _'If we are successful,' Gellert said in a whisper. 'Then there is no more need for concealment, Albus. You could keep her, openly, at your side. You would not have to hide. You would not be stuck – sat here in this sleepy hollow… you would take your rightful place, at the head of the world we shall create.'_

 _Albus removed one of his hands from Grindelwald's grasp. The latter did not interrupt as he reached slowly forward, pulling the shining pendant on its string. He fingered the wrought silver… the promise in the metal weight._

 _'It is not a selfish choice, Albus,' Gellert whispered quietly, seeming to sense his indecision, and his excitement. 'It is to the benefit of all. Your sister… Wizardry… Humanity itself. We were_ born _to this destiny.'_

 _And, at last, Albus raised his gaze from the pendant to its owner's eager face._

 _'Together,' he said._

 _Gellert smiled, and closed his hand over Albus' on the silver._

 _'Together,' he agreed._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was past midnight. Harry had long since gone up to bed, and Albus sat alone in his study – staring unseeingly down at a sea of parchment as the candles in their stately silver perches burned lower and lower on each corner of the ornate desk. He still clutched a quill in slackened fingers, where he'd been idly scratching at a corner of a letter from London every few minutes in his distraction.

He was shaken from the past quite suddenly – when a flickering shadow creeped along the illuminated map of the Mer village, moving slowly from one end of the lake to the other. He watched its progress until the reflected form disappeared where his own chair blocked its shadow.

'Fancy finding you here at this hour, Professor McGonagall,' he said quietly.

He turned in the chair, in time to watch the cat on the high bookshelf behind straighten with a look of consternation. It took a flying leap off its perch, shifting mid-air so that Minerva landed lightly at his side.

'How did you know I was there?' she demanded, clearly miffed.

'Why?' Albus asked her, eyes twinkling. 'Were you planning a sneak attack?'

'I wouldn't say I was planning it,' she disagreed, smirking mischievously as she straightened her robes.

Albus chuckled. 'You might remember that all light casts shadows,' he informed her, gesturing with his head at the low-burning candles. 'It becomes rather easy to spot movement when one can watch it dart across his reading.'

Minerva huffed. 'You were miles away,' she accused. 'I didn't think you'd notice.'

'I have rarely been chastised for my lack of observance,' he teased. 'Incidentally, when did you come in?'

She smirked. 'Just after you went up to change,' she said, indicating the long spangled dressing gown.

He studied her with an amused smile. 'You have been tucked away on that bookshelf nearly an hour without my notice? I do feel rude.'

'Well, you _did_ seem rather absorbed,' she pointed out. 'I could scarcely bring myself to interrupt.'

He sighed. 'I have much on my mind,' he agreed. 'But nothing, I fear, that might be solved in an evening's deep thought.'

Minerva leaned around him, glancing over the cluttered desk. 'Ignotus Peverell?' she queried curiously, reading Albus' mindless scribble. 'I don't believe I know the name.'

'Nor should you,' Albus said with another small sigh. 'For he has been dead some seven centuries.'

Minerva raised an eyebrow. 'And why are we bothering tonight with such long-dead ghosts, Albus?'

He smiled, banishing the scrap of parchment with a flick of his hand. 'He had much to teach, in his day,' he said enigmatically. 'And even the name alone is a reminder I hold dear.'

Minerva rolled her eyes. 'Must you always speak in riddle?' she chastised irritably. 'It does become rather trying on one's patience.'

Albus' eyes twinkled. 'It is an anagram,' he revealed. 'Rearranged, it reads: Let Pure Love Sing.'

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Twelve** :

 **Wide Eyed and Curious** : Thank you for reviewing! So happy to hear you are still enjoying the series so much. Lol – I am glad you enjoyed the awkward reveal. I anticipate that there will be readers who lament I did not take a different tack in having this conversation… but this was what has always felt the most natural for the progression of the story, so I will defend the choice. Hope you continue to enjoy – and that you like Chapter Thirteen!

 **Undeniably Uzumaki** : Thanks for reviewing – and glad to hear you've been keeping up even if you haven't had a chance to post in a while! Hmm… I wonder that you find the chapter feels particularly important… not that it isn't, necessarily, but of the twelve in this book thus far, it certainly isn't where the _most_ important nuggets are hidden. That said, I am sure by now you know me well enough to gather that very little (really, nothing) in Child of Hogwarts was written as mere filler… almost everything, and every scene, plays a larger role.

Now, to your questions! Why is Albus focused on the plankton… well, why not? It is a fascinating phenomenon, and it _is_ the first time that Harry has seen it. It is a destination to go to while they have a private and very serious conversation; a chance to see something exciting; and – in the end – a chance for another Dumbledore-ish lesson which will make a reappearance later. He cannot erase Sirius' memory. I wish it were possible – I do… but Sirius does not have discernible 'days' that are worse than others in that prison. We saw in Part II that he had no real sense of time itself – just constant, unending torture… until, of course, Fudge arrived with the paper. I doubt even Dumbledore could separate the instances, or that it would do much good to attempt it. Moreover, the Dementors' power is insidious – it is like a malignancy, and not easily removed. Sirius will have to deal with this the 'Muggle' way, unfortunately. As to Voldemort and Pettigrew – certainly I suppose they could smuggle themselves onto an aeroplane. But that would be an immense bow to Muggle technology – and not a very Voldemort-ish thing to do. I also imagine that in his weakened state and with the massive snake in tow, travel at 50,000 feet would not be an ideal means of transport and could even prove dangerous. It would certainly be more expedient… but while they are on a timetable, it is not so tight a schedule as to necessitate air travel, I think.

I hope you enjoy Chapter Thirteen!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thanks for reviewing! Haha, well – I'm very glad you liked the chapter so much. It was definitely a character development-centric piece… so you are correct – while the stories in and of themselves appear unrelated and/or trivial, they are interconnected and will prove quite central to the story. I think on Gellert and Albus' conversation – yes, I think we see more of young Grindelwald's true character, here, than he has shown to young Albus thus far. And he does find Ariana's power intriguing… though, of course, he does not really understand the Obscurus in the way that Albus does. I don't want to say too much else on that vein, as I know it will be addressed in coming chapters. Do they disagree here? Is it quite that divergent? I am not so sure… I think when the scene ends, he is rather more intrigued than angry. I _do_ certainly think they come at the idea from different places… but remember, this is not the Albus of 1994. This Albus is younger; more impressionable; less tested by the world… and more arrogant. That arrogance can be dangerous – as, knowing the eventual outcome of this sometime-friendship, the reader recognises.

Oh the walk with Harry – one of the lighter moments, really, of this book so far (though the conversation obviously covered some serious grounds). Harry does now know about the Order – something I thought was due, and which – as you point out – sates his curiosity, for the moment. I expect some may be disappointed I did not have Albus share more… but honestly, I do think there should be _some_ limits at this point in Harry's life. He pushes back on Albus' decision with Kingsley a bit – which I think speaks to the fact that Harry is both more comfortable with the headmaster and more assertive… and yet, even so, he is quick to trust Dumbledore just a few moments later. As to the glowing plankton – this is a real phenomenon that I witnessed just once, though it was in Denmark, rather than England. I did a bit of research to ensure the details were accurate, though I'm sure it's possible I've still misstated something, lol.

So Voldemort and Wormtail… they left Albania by boat a few chapters ago, and took passage through the Aegean sea to the northeast coast of Italy. They then boarded a train that would take them to the French border. As Voldemort hints here, the scheme is to traverse the border on foot, and then travel north through most of France to the Chanel, which they will cross into Britain. As to Wormtail… yes, he's made his choice. But even horrible people are sometimes pitiable.

Ok, so the big 'reveal', lol. Yes… it just felt like the right time, and the right way, for Harry to become privy to this situation. I thought doing it in such a manner would be the most true to Harry's character and his growing familiarity with Albus (and Minerva), rather than having some awkward talk that – I felt – would feel a bit forced this far into the series. I hope this played out all right. And it also let me bring Sirius back into good humour in a more natural fashion. Your envisioning of Albus and Minerva's reactions, incidentally, is precisely how I pictured it in my own head. Hermione – yes, she is not quite as clueless. I dare say she will be amused at Harry's little faux pas. As to Ron, as we will find out this next chapter, he had written to ask Harry to the World Cup.

As to Snape, I feel similarly. I've never been one of the die-hard Snape groupies… but I do enjoy him and think he's one of the most three-dimensional of Rowling's creations. Excellent guess on the next recruit… I think that you will enjoy how that comes into play. I can completely understand about the names – I have similar moments translating English ones :). And, sometimes, explaining a 'British' phrase to an American can be nearly as bewildering… I try to avoid British phrasing that I think would be obscure for the American reader… but sometimes it is hard to entirely stamp out.

Glad you are still enjoying the story so much, and that you are having a good time in London! I hope you like the next chapter.

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! Lol… I love that in a chapter that shows Grindelwald's darkest side, details Harry's first conversation on the Order of the Phoenix, foreshadows some _major_ plot points to come, checks in with Voldemort, hints at Snape's history with Shell Cottage AND shows us that Sirius is not quite as healed as he's been fronting for his godson – it is Harry's discovery of the Albus/Minerva relationship that garners the biggest response from readers :)

Even so, I am glad you enjoyed it… and I hope you will like Chapter Thirteen!

 **Leonore** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you liked the chapter so much. I hope you'll enjoy the next instalment!


	14. Thurisaz

**A/N:** Everyone be honest… how many readers attempted the anagram transduction at the conclusion of Chapter Thirteen? (laughs to self). At any rate, we are coming into exciting events this chapter… so I shall leave it here. Enjoy Chapter Fourteen, and…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 **Thurisaz**

' _That_ ,' Sirius said, shaking the shower from his hair as he entered the kitchen near to noon, still in his dressing gown, 'Was fucking brilliant.'

Remus was nursing an enormous mug, looking drawn and slightly green. He grunted without raising his head, diving nose-first to meet his hands halfway and suck at the drink. Sirius could tell by the scent that he'd forgone his usual tea for coffee this morning. He sighed as he poured himself a cup.

'If you're that done in, Moony, I don't mind knocking up something for the both of us,' he offered. 'You could lay out in the sitting room, or go back to bed if you –'

'I would not endanger our lives two days running,' Remus said hoarsely, lifting his head at last to offer a half-jesting smile. 'Give me a moment to wake up, and I'll do breakfast.'

Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically. 'Direct me then, if you're so insistent,' he compromised. 'I don't fancy my eggs with sick in them… and looking at you, I can't imagine there'd be a different outcome.'

Remus relented, shooting precise orders at Sirius while the latter busied himself a few minutes with saucepans and ingredients. When at last Sirius had managed a reasonable fry-up, he banged the matching plates onto the counter between them and perched on a stool opposite Remus.

'So,' he said around a mouthful of scramble, diving back into his previous excitement. 'It _was_ brilliant, wasn't it?'

Remus rolled his eyes. 'For you, perhaps,' he allowed. 'For me… I can't say I could ever describe the moon as 'brilliant'. Not after experiencing the transformation…'

Sirius waved his fork through the air. A bit of the egg squelched off the opposite cabinet. 'But this was _different_ , Moony,' he insisted. 'I haven't run with you since the potion… You can't tell me you didn't feel it too?'

Remus cleaned the rogue egg with a flick of his wand. He smiled as he looked back to Sirius. 'I did,' he acknowledged. 'I could always remember at Hogwarts… but it's different, when I've kept my mind throughout. I could understand you, as I could not before. We could be, almost…'

'Free,' Sirius finished for him in quiet ecstasy.

The word jolted a different reaction in Remus. He suddenly grimaced. 'Yes. But we shouldn't have left the cottage,' he lamented. 'It was not wise. I should never have let you talk me into –'

'Oh, don't be such a killjoy,' Sirius scoffed. 'We didn't leave the property, did we? Albus said the wards would hold up to the boundaries. He never said we had to stay shut in here, even at full moon.'

'We were carried away,' Remus pointed out. 'We easily could have crossed over… we might even have done so. And that would have been –'

'But it wasn't,' Sirius interrupted. 'It was fine. We were good, just like we promised. And you kept your mind, just like Snivellus' potion promised. And we had the chance to run again… you don't know how much I've missed that.'

'No,' Remus disagreed with another small smile. 'You do not know how much _I_ have missed that – after so many years of solitude and confinement at the transformation.'

Sirius grinned, giving him a small nod. 'I wish Prongs was here to…'

He trailed off, smashing the remnants of breakfast with the flat edge of his knife.

'I know,' Remus agreed quietly. 'I do too.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry quickly learned that his immediate impression of the study of Ancient Runes was entirely incorrect. The subject was not difficult.

It was impossible.

'These are just the _letters_?' Harry asked again, staring at the foot-long scroll of parchment that Dumbledore had conjured for him to copy out.

'Not exactly,' Albus corrected with incredible patience. 'This is the Runic Alphabet – _a_ runic alphabet, at any rate. The most common in use by wizards of Europe. African and Asian cultures have developed different variations, of course, and the Americas –'

Harry shook his head, and Albus broke off with a chuckle. 'You are lucky,' he told Harry seriously. 'I am only insisting that you learn the standardised European version of Elder Futhark. In very ancient times, there were three-hundred and sixty-eight in use in Europe alone, and a later futhorc version is more common in ancient British studies among Muggles.'

Harry's head was swimming. He glanced through the parchment again. 'The numbers don't add up,' he pointed out. 'There's more, here, than twenty-six.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'That is why it is not entirely correct to call them 'letters'. Some stand for sounds. Other English letters have no Runic equivalent, or share one. Both the strong 'C' and 'K', for example, are represented by the same symbol. There are twenty-four characters in what might be called the official 'alphabet'. The wizarding variant includes twelve more.'

Harry scratched a hand through his hair in pre-emptive frustration. 'I don't understand,' he said. 'These… you'd use these to make words? Like what was in that book? But – it wasn't as long as all this ought to make it… and the Runes on my wand holster –'

He pulled it off, studying the markings on Remus' gift and comparing them with the headmaster's neat script on the parchment.

'None of them match these at all, except this one.'

He pointed at an engraving which looked rather like the English letter 'P', except that the markings were angular and the projecting bump set halfway down the mast of the letter.

Albus leaned closer to have a better look, and nodded sagely.

'Thurisaz,' he translated. 'It is a rune which serves a dual purpose.'

Harry sighed heavily and the headmaster smiled. 'The letters,' he explained, 'Can and have been used to form words through individual sounds. This is quite common in written Runic languages, though in some cases later runes with specific individual meanings have replaced a string of alphabetical forms. In magic, however, runes are more often interwoven over each other, or replaced entirely by other symbols, in order to draw their magical power. Some of the strongest individual letters, moreover, are magical runes in and of themselves when used as such. Thurisaz is one example. It is not a letter which translates to modern English precisely… but its sound is rather like a hard 't-h' – as might be seen in 'Thor', the deity from which it derives its name.'

'So… here, on the holster, it means 'Thor'?' Harry asked, attempting to wrap his head around it.

'More or less,' Albus agreed. 'Thor, in ancient Norse legend, was a god of many things. In magical use, his Rune has retained association with the protection of mankind. In mythology, Thor was heavily associated with strength and protection. He was also often associated with oak trees – the wood from which, of course, is fashioned for wands that are particularly inclined toward protective magic and known for their steadfastness.'

'And Merlin,' Harry remembered all of a sudden. 'He imprisoned himself in an oak tree, right?'

Albus' eyes were twinkling. 'He did indeed,' he confirmed. 'To protect those whom he loved. And so, you see, magic is often interwoven.'

'So… this marking,' Harry said, tracing the engraving again. 'This is a rune of protection?'

'Yes,' Albus confirmed. 'One of the simplest to create, and yet one of the strongest.'

'But – if not all runes have magic themselves,' Harry asked, looking at the alphabet again, 'Then why bother learning them at all? Why not just focus on the magical runes?'

'These are the building blocks of everything else, Harry,' Albus explained. 'They are not merely an ancient system of writing. Until you can understand them, use them, work with them, you cannot truly grasp the power of those Runes we use in magical enchantment.'

Harry picked up the quill, and began to copy out the strange markings.

'Very good,' Albus approved, studying the beginnings of his effort. 'I know it is tedious work, Harry. But you must trust me in this. If you understand how something begins, you will have a far greater appreciate for what it then becomes.'

Harry paused the scratching of his quill. For the second time that day, a flash of the previous summer came back to him.

'You know…' he said slowly, glancing up at Albus. 'Snape said something like that to me once. That if I wanted to defeat a killer, I had to know what it was that made it deadly.'

Albus, to Harry's surprise, looked slightly paler than usual. He did not even chastise Harry for letting Snape's title slip yet again.

'Did he indeed?' he asked softly. 'And what were you discussing, Harry, for Severus to have made such a grim comment?'

Harry smirked slightly as he bent back over the parchment.

'Poison.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Minerva had known Augusta Longbottom nearly all her life – since they had been girls themselves on the Hogwarts Express. She had taken the fall for the pair of them, when they'd snuck out to the kitchens at two in the morning and been caught by old Professor Blight. She had giggled and gossiped with her late into the night, trading stories of Muggle boys and secret affairs. She had sobbed against her shoulder, when those innocent gaieties presented their heart-breaking complications. She had stood beside her as she married Francis… and mourned with her years later, when he met an untimely death. She was named godmother to their only son.

Still, Minerva was unsurprised by the stately, formal reception waiting for her when she apparated to the drive of the Longbottom home. It was simply Augusta's way.

The manor house was neither as grand nor as newly refurbished as many of its neighbours… but it could easily claim upkeep of the highest care. The white stones gleamed in the sunlight, and the expansive gardens were immaculately pruned and perfectly symmetrical. Augusta herself stood waiting in perfectly pressed dress robes – framed in the entryway with her somewhat pink-faced nephew beside her. Neville pulled uncomfortably at the collar of his own formal attire in the summer's heat.

'Minerva! It has been far too long,' Augusta greeted, opening her arms as Minerva reached the steps.

The Transfiguration professor climbed forward to meet her. She grasped the witch's hands and kissed her once on the cheek.

'Indeed it has,' she agreed with a smile, straightening her spectacles on the bridge of her nose when they had broken apart. 'Alas – the summer never is quite as long as it appears, is it?'

Augusta snorted. 'Or far too lengthy,' she countered with a playful wink in Neville's direction. 'When you are raising a teenager at my advanced age.'

Minerva gave her a mock smack on the arm. 'Watch it, you,' she warned. 'I am three months your senior, and I have them all year round.'

Augusta grimaced. 'Ah, but you get a reprieve, don't you?' she teased. 'Me… I am never quite done.'

Minerva smiled, but did not comment. 'And how are you, Mr Longbottom?' she asked, turning to her student in turn.

Though Neville had seen her several times a year as a child, he had grown somewhat nervous since starting at the school and coming under her charge in Gryffindor House. He bowed his head in polite acknowledgement, stammering a bit in his reply.

'I – I'm well, thank you, professor,' he said quickly. 'I hope you have had a good summer?'

'Perfectly lovely,' Minerva assured him. 'And yourself?'

'We've been fine – just fine,' Augusta interrupted quickly, before her grandson could respond. 'Neville dear, why don't you amuse yourself in the grounds for a bit.'

'Yes, Gran,' Neville acquiesced quickly. 'It was nice to see you, professor.'

Minerva smiled an agreement. Neville bowed his head again and shuffled off in the direction of the high hedgerow. Augusta stepped back and showed Minerva into the foyer.

'I've had tea sent up to the front parlour,' she said, crossing that direction ahead of her guest.

Five minutes later, they had settled themselves comfortably into opposite chairs. The room was light and airy, and Augusta kept the windows open to counter the heat of the low-burning fire. Several butterflies took advantage of her unintended invitation, flitting about the gossamer curtains and driving a pair of long-haired cats to delighted distraction.

Minerva looked around in contentment.

'It's lovely to be back,' she said to her friend. 'I do hope you have recovered from your bout with Spattergroit?'

Augusta waved a careless hand. 'Honestly,' she said with a sniff. 'They'll lock you up for months these days, catch anything over the age of thirty. I was well enough recovered by Christmas, but the Healers still insisted we keep it quiet at the house. First year I've missed visiting Frank and Allie since… well, ever, really. And poor Neville was pale the entire holiday – banging on about some seer at the school warning him I was near to death...'

Minerva huffed in impatient irritation. 'Sybill Trelawney,' she recognised at once. 'She is constantly seeking to inflame the masses. Neville should pay no mind to a thing she says.'

Augusta rolled her eyes. 'Well, _you_ try talking the sense into him,' she lamented. 'I've given it every ounce of energy I can spare – but it's as though he's made to cause me anxiety.'

'Don't I understand,' Minerva agreed with a small smile.

Augusta set the tea down, looking curiously at her. 'He's not giving you a hard time of it at the school, is he?' she asked anxiously. 'I mean… more than with his lessons?'

'Oh no,' Minerva assured her quickly. 'No, it's not Neville at all, Augusta. It's only… well –'

She sighed, wondering how best to phrase it; and just how much was wise to say.

'This is not to be repeated,' she prefaced. 'There are very few who know…'

A gleam sprang up in the other woman's eyes. Augusta had always loved intrigue.

'I shan't breathe a word,' she promised, flexing her fingers like a giddy school girl. Minerva gave her a stern look.

'Harry Potter has been staying at the castle,' she revealed.

Augusta scoffed, reclaiming her tea. 'Well, obviously,' she rebuked. 'Everyone knows that. Merlin, Neville hardly shuts up about him. The way he tells it, the Boy Who Lived spends half his life saving the school itself.'

'That is too close to true for my comfort,' Minerva admitted dryly.

Augusta smirked. 'A fine victory for Gryffindor House,' she approved. 'He will make his parents proud.'

'He will,' Minerva agreed. 'But that is not exactly what I meant. You see… Harry _resides_ at the castle – not just while school is in session, but throughout most of the summer holidays as well.'

For a moment, Augusta stared at her in puzzlement. Then she burst out laughing.

'This is too rich,' she teased, pointing her wand at a side cabinet so that a dusty bottle of some amber liquid burst its flimsy door and came soaring to her hand. She spiked both their teacups, still wheezing. 'And here _I_ thought I had a handful. Harry Potter, Minerva. You must have a fair few stories.'

'Quite,' Minerva agreed with a rueful grimace.

Augusta giggled again. 'But however did _that_ come to pass?' she asked, when she had collected herself a tad. 'I thought Potter lived with relatives, when school was not in.'

'He did,' she answered curtly. 'He still returns, briefly, at the beginning of the holiday. But Albus decided shortly after his first year that the arrangement would not be wise to continue.'

Minerva fought to keep the heat from her eyes. She was not sure the effort was entirely successful. Augusta's humour faded a little as she watched her.

'He is Albus' ward, primarily,' Minerva continued. 'Though we share responsibilities.'

'It is good of you to do it,' Augusta assured her seriously. 'I know I poke fun… but I shouldn't. They need us, don't they? Harry and Neville both.'

'Yes,' Minerva agreed. 'And Harry is one reason I am here, in fact. His birthday is at the end of the month, 31 July. We have told him he may have a few friends for the night to celebrate, and Harry asked if Neville would be willing to come. Albus and I would supervise, of course… and I believe Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger are planning to join.'

Augusta's eyes gleamed. 'Of course he'll come!' she agreed at once.

Minerva raised an amused eyebrow. 'Ought you not to ask his preference first?' she teased.

Augusta refilled their cups with a little snort. 'Nonsense,' she insisted. 'Neville will be delighted. He adores Harry Potter. He'll consider it a wonderful treat to get to spend the night with his friends – he is alone far too often in the summer. And, after all, his own birthday's just the day before.'

The words sent a physical pang through her breast. Minerva took a slightly staggered breath.

'Of course it is,' she agreed quietly.

Augusta seemed to read the unsaid in her expression. She lowered her teacup slowly to its saucer, and cast a charm at the parlour door. When she turned back to her friend, her eyes were shrewd and much of the gaiety had gone from her face.

'You know,' she said quietly. 'He's told you, at last.'

Minerva's stomach gave another jolt. ' _You_ know?' she breathed out. 'But how…'

'Not everything,' Augusta qualified. 'But enough, yes. After all, we did not know for certain which boy it would be… not at first, in any case. Dumbledore told us he was hunting one or the other. He did not give the details… but I am not an ignorant woman. What use could You-Know-Who have for the death of a child – unless that child was a threat himself? Potter's fate was nearly my grandson's. And sometimes, I do wonder whether…'

She trailed off, but the implication was thick in the air. Minerva worked through her own shock and fear to rally a reply.

'I apologise,' Augusta said softly, when Minerva's silence dragged on. 'That was callous. I did not mean –'

'For your son and Alice, I do not blame you,' Minerva assured her quietly. 'But I can promise… though James and Lily may have suffered far less; you would not wish Harry's destiny on Neville, if you truly knew what it meant. No child should shoulder such a burden.'

'No,' Augusta agreed in a deadly serious tone. 'I expect not.'

They were silent another few moments, stirring their tea while the tension abated. The pleasant heat of the spirit and familiarity of company no longer served to lull Minerva into comfort. She felt cold despite the balmy day. Through the glorious windows, she watched Neville puttering about in the gardens.

'He is a good boy,' she told Augusta, nodding at the bent figure as Neville struggled to prune a resisting Flutterby.

Augusta gave a stiff sort of grunt. 'He is,' she said. 'Though not as talented as I had hoped. His father –'

'Took some years to grow into his own,' Minerva reminded her. 'Neville will get there yet.'

'Perhaps,' Augusta relented. 'His marks do not give me much peace of mind.'

Minerva, who knew Neville had performed below average in her own lessons this past term, felt slightly uncomfortable. 'There are more important things,' she said firmly. 'Dedication, courage, loyalty… Neville has all in spades. He will make a fine wizard, no matter his ultimate career.'

'You must not think me harsh,' Augusta insisted primly. 'I love my grandson. I could care less if he _were_ a Squib, from that angle. He is a Longbottom, and he is my blood. I would do anything to keep him safe. But you must admit, Minerva, that it is easier…'

Minerva frowned. Augusta gave a sigh that spoke on the surface of irritation; and below – of deep, constant worry.

'I do not wish a difficult life upon him,' she explained. 'And we all know difficult times will come again. I have watched him work fivefold as hard as his peers. He struggles with magic, he struggles with friendships… he struggles to find himself. Everything Neville gleans from this world, he fights tooth and wand to achieve. I want him to know an _easy_ life, Minerva. That is all.'

Minerva stirred her beverage softly. 'Indeed,' she agreed. 'That is all any of us wish for them… in the end.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a dark, stormy night: unseasonable, for the back half of July.

He appeared in the alleyway between Gringotts and Twilfitt and Tattings. The sound of his arrival was almost entirely masked by the stirring tempest – courtesy of over a decade's work at the headmaster's side. Severus drew the cloak up so that its hood obscured his features, and stepped brusquely into the misty street. The heels of his boots clicked a hurried pattern against the cobblestones as he navigated his way toward the darker streets beyond.

The night's chill seemed to deepen, as Severus crept down a staircase between two dilapidated terrace houses and entered Knockturn Alley just up from Selwyn's old apothecary. The pub he intended as his ultimate destination lay some way down the street… but there were other errands he needed to see to before entering.

He stepped first into the apothecary, dismantling the shuttering charms with several careful spells.

'Oi!' a voice shouted from the shadows as Severus crossed the threshold. 'Whatcha think you're doing, eh? Shop's closed!'

'So I saw,' Severus returned in a lazy drawl.

'You've four wands trained on you, sir,' the gruff voice warned, slightly louder. 'Move one muscle, and I'll –'

'There is no wand but yours, Selwyn,' Snape interrupted in a bored tone. 'And I flatter myself that I could dispense with a threat from you alone.'

There was a muttered oath, and the hidden man lit the lamps. Severus saw the middle-aged shopkeeper standing – alone, as he had guessed – behind his till.

'So, it's you,' the man grunted, looking Severus once over. 'You might've announced yourself, Snape.'

'I am not in the habit of throwing my name about when visiting Knockturn Alley in the night, Selwyn,' Severus dismissed. 'And I could hardly be seen paying a call here in daylight, could I? It might raise awkward questions… for a man who serves at Albus Dumbledore's school.'

Selwyn narrowed his eyes. 'Aye, it might,' he agreed. 'What do you need, Snape, that you felt might be acquired through a break-in at my shop?'

'Break-in?' Severus quoted back, picking lazily at a rip in his index fingernail and not bothering to look at his companion. 'Rather a theatrical characterisation, wouldn't you say? I knew you were inside. I did no more than to ensure my entrance.'

The man grunted impatiently. 'And to what purpose?' he demanded.

Severus gestured at the wall behind him. 'I have a need for certain ingredients,' he said. 'Ingredients which I do not generally keep in stock as Potions Master at Hogwarts… nor are they favoured by your competitors in Diagon Alley.'

Selwyn cleared his throat. 'Take what you like,' he said, crossing his arms behind the till. 'I'll ring it out when you're done.'

Severus inclined his head and walked over to peruse the shelves.

'Not something you're brewing for the old man, then?' Selwyn guessed, watching Severus weigh Chimera scales in his hands.

'I carry on several projects of my own,' Snape answered evasively. 'Supervising children can be… tedious.'

'Aye,' said Selwyn. 'And what project might you be working on to pique your interest, Snape?'

Severus smirked. 'An ingenue does not share his secrets, Selwyn,' he chastised lightly. 'But I dare say, some of this work may prove… useful, before long.'

Selwyn's gaze grew more distrustful still. 'Useful how, Snape?' he asked, watching the professor closely.

Severus did not answer at once, sizing up a selection of _Leiurus_ _quinquestriatus_ carcasses. He collected the lot in a small silken pouch and banged it on the counter with the seven chimera scales. When his hands were freed, he stroked the pad of his right thumb over the place on his left arm where the Mark was growing darker every day. He watched Selwyn's eyes arrest, snapping to the movement.

'There is a storm brewing, Selwyn,' he said in the same careless tone, nodding a head toward the gale outdoors. 'The clouds gather, and the night deepens… and soon, all men must decide. Will we join its power? Or shall we be drowned in its wrath?'

Selwyn raised his eyes slowly to Snape's face, his own terrified. A sheen of sweat had broken along the deep furrows of his brow.

Severus studied the truth behind the irises. He slapped a stack of silver onto the countertop.

'Good evening, Selwyn.'

He gathered his scales and deathstalkers, turned, and left the shop.

The second target was not so easy to find. He had come on Albus' intelligence, and yet the man was not where Albus had suggested he would be. Instead, Severus scoured almost the entirety of the street before he spotted him at last – tinkering with a pile of what looked like lunascopes in a crate behind another closed shop. Severus might have missed him entirely in the darkness… but the stench of tobacco was too thick for coincidence.

Severus cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, and crept toward him. The angle of his body blocked the man's escape.

'Checking Mr Gasser's delivery for him, are you? How very magnanimous.'

The grubby little man jumped and whirled at once, staring about the shadowed alleyway for the source of the voice and dropping his smoking pipe in shock. When he could not spot his unwanted observer, he scrambled to pocket as many of the lunascopes as he could fumble in one hand and turn on the spot.

' _Petrificus Totalus_ ,' Severus said lazily.

The man's limbs snapped to his sides and he fell back upon the dirty stones – wide-eyed and appalled.

' _Finite_ ,' Severus murmured, releasing the charm upon his own figure. The frozen man could not speak, but his eyes widened further as the Potions Master loomed over him.

'As despicable a creature as ever you were, Fletcher,' Severus observed. He flicked a stray bit of ash from the pipe off his sleeve so that it fluttered down onto its owner's nose. 'Perhaps if you kept your wand in your hand half as often as you do that vile thing, you would stand a better chance at evading your enemies.'

The man still could not answer, but he blinked rapidly against both the shock and the rainfall. Severus pocketed his own wand.

'Albus Dumbledore sends a message,' he informed the sneak thief. 'He wishes you to meet him tomorrow evening at eleven o'clock, in the last room on the right at the Hogs Head Inn.'

He paused to smile wickedly down at his prey. 'Dumbledore realises,' he added with affected delicacy, 'That _you_ are not permitted in the Hogs Head Inn. He has graciously arranged with the barman that you should be allowed to enter for this one night only… provided that you go nowhere but the indicated location. Blink once, if you understand.'

The man squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again.

'Very good,' Severus approved patronisingly. 'Now, when I release the charm, you will return the lunascopes in your right pocket and leave this place, before I decide to curse you again. _Finite_.'

The man drew in a staggered breath as his bonds were released. He scrambled to obey the instruction, shooting nervous glances back at Severus as he hastily replaced the stolen goods in their crate.

'Eleven o'clock, Fletcher,' Severus reminded in a hiss. 'Do not be late.'

Mundungus Fletcher gave a hurried, quaking little nod… and Disapparated with a crack.

Two down.

Severus flicked his wand at the crate of lunascopes, resealing the charm that the sneak thief had broken and floating the lot back to the covered back step. Already weary and feeling the rain drive as heavily within his skull as without, he strode purposefully from the shadows and back up the street.

The storm had fashioned tiny rivers between the cobblestones. Severus developed a drag in his stride as the hem of his cloak caught in the swollen puddles, weighing him down from the back and catching at every turn. His boots began to squish softly, and he doubted even the charms would keep the leather from damage in this mess. Even beneath the deep hood, his hair had grown damp against the nape of his neck.

He could have cast an Impervius Charm over himself, of course. The pressure growing in his forehead warned him it would be wise.

But he did not.

The shifty wizard at the entrance gave him a suspicious glare out of deep, coal-black eyes. Severus barely inclined his own head, stepping around him to open the door. The man shot out a burly arm to block his path.

'Closed party,' he informed Severus in a growl.

'When isn't it,' Severus said icily back. 'I am always on the list.'

The man snorted irritably. 'That so?' he challenged. 'What're you called, then?'

Severus put his left hand on the door without answer. The latch clicked free, as he had known it would.

The guard drew back his own arm with a muttered apology, bowing his head. Severus spared his scratchy throat a reply. He pushed his way into the pub.

The dingy room was musty with residual dampness from the outside rains, the floor gritty beneath his boots. A stench of men and stale spirit hung about the air, which was hazed by a smoke near as thick as that about Mundungus Fletcher had been. Severus stifled a cough as he picked his way through.

Warlocks in pairs or small groups were bunched around low circular tables and huddled in high-back booths. Two women in thick makeup that did not quite hide their years travelled between the tables, balancing trays of ale and smoking goblets with their wands and leaning unnecessarily close to drop them to their patrons. In a shadowed corner, a third barmaid was pressed against the wall, moaning in an exaggerated fashion as a filthy man in tousled robes ran yellowed fingernails up her bodice. They were the only witches that Severus could discern.

A surly barman was manning the place, thick eyebrows obscuring a distrustful glare. He tossed a sodden rag into the basin as Severus slid himself onto a stool beside the only other wizard at the countertop.

Severus muttered a quick drying spell to freshen his robes, but left his hood hung low.

'Ashwinder wine,' he ordered, irritated to hear his voice had lost some of its silken tone.

The barman grunted and shuffled off to fill a goblet. Severus piled his hands on the stained wood, his wand held casually in the right. He waved off a fourth witch, who had sidled out of the back room with sultry eyes and a hopeful expression. She looked affronted at his dismissal and turned with a sniff, hips swaying as she made toward a whistling pair by the fireside instead.

Severus addressed the solitary figure to his left without turning his head.

'You have been quiet of late, Yaxley.'

The man started slightly, his head whipping to stare at his unwanted drinking mate. The barman returned with the wine, and Severus freed his left hand to throw a coin on the counter and accept the drink. Yaxley watched the publican pointedly until he muttered something in annoyance and slunk away again down the bar.

'Show your face,' he hissed.

Severus turned just a fraction, lifting his head so the candle might illuminate his profile beneath the hood. He smirked at Yaxley's recognition and turned to face him properly, leaning back and sipping the wine… but keeping his wand hand on the surface between them.

'Snape,' Yaxley greeted with a stiff nod. 'Must be… what? Five years, now?'

'You have been quiet,' Severus repeated without reply. 'Lucius tells me he has asked you twice to call, yet received no response. And you two were such good _friends_ in your youth.'

Yaxley's lip curled. 'Lucius and I share similar youths,' he reminded Severus. 'Similar pedigrees. A pedigree, I believe, you are lacking.'

'I made my power,' Severus said quietly. 'I was rewarded for it. In the important era, we _all_ shared companionship, Yaxley. Though you seem to have forgotten of late.'

'I forget nothing, Snape,' the man countered through gritted teeth. 'Just as I do not forget who stood for _you_ – when that shared history had met its end.'

'I kept my place and my wand,' Severus said smoothly. 'I make no apologies for how. I remained free, same as you.'

'You remained Dumbledore's lapdog,' Yaxley snapped in a whisper.

'Dumbledore's confidant,' Severus corrected. 'A position far more useful, Yaxley, than the best known patron of the seediest pub in London. I shall have twelve years of information on the greatest wizard of the age to offer if He returns… and you – you shall offer what, exactly? The latest price of Firewhisky and a year's supply of steri-spells?'

Yaxley reddened indignantly. 'The greatest wizard of the age,' he repeated in a dangerous hiss. 'How lovingly you speak of the headmaster, Severus. You think He will be pleased at that, do you? You think he will forgive your treachery for it?'

'I will not require forgiveness,' Severus said carelessly, taking another deep pull from the envenomed wine. 'Not on the scale _you_ must beg for, at any rate. I have done nothing to warrant his anger. I remained where he placed me; serving as he asked me. And Albus Dumbledore –' he added, holding up a finger to forestall Yaxley's furious interruption – ' _is_ the greatest wizard of the age, save one. Our Lord knows it. It is why my mission was of such value to him from its inception.'

Yaxley glared – but Severus could see uncertainty behind the stare. He waited, still smirking slightly. Yaxley rapped his empty tumbler twice on the countertop. The surly barman shuffled back into view.

'Another, Stephan – for me and my _friend_ here,' he said, uttering the word almost as a threat.

Stephan looked between them with narrowed eyes, but refilled their respective glasses without comment.

'Private conversation,' Yaxley told him, when the barman dawdled. Stephan looked irritated again as he snatched up Yaxley's gold and stomped away.

'So,' Yaxley said, swigging half his drink. 'Lucius – the favoured prince – is worried. You… who have always run with the questionable crowd, are not. An interesting dichotomy, Snape. You see where I might draw my own concern?'

'Lucius and I share similar feelings,' Severus disagreed. 'Anxiety is merely one. Anticipation, excitement, uncertainty… but even I, Yaxley, would not be fool enough to imagine He will take kindly to twelve years of solitude – whatever reasons lay behind it.'

'Nothing is certain,' Yaxley said, betraying for the first time a break in his own confidence. 'Nothing has… _solidified_ , just yet.'

'We all know it is coming,' Severus said seriously. 'No other explanation makes sense. Those of us who remain outside Azkaban fortress will be first to get the call. It is imprudent, if not foolish, to resist the consult of those others who are similarly situated.'

'So what would you have me do, Severus?' Yaxley challenged, draining the last of his drink. 'Pay you a visit for a chat at Dumbledore's table?'

Severus stood, placing his own empty goblet on the countertop. He moved swiftly, grasping Yaxley's left arm, over the Mark they shared. Yaxley drew in a sharp breath. Severus himself could feel it – the faint pulse of heat… just stirring beneath his fingers.

'I would have you realise, Yaxley,' he breathed softly in the other man's ear, 'That loyalty is shown through _action_ , not words. I would have you remember that we all of us share the Mark – and we shall rise or fall by its call. And the next time Lucius requests you leave your whisky and whores… I would have you show your miserable face. I would have you prove where _your_ allegiances lie.'

He dropped the man's arm with a pointed nod, and strode quickly from the pub.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was an odd sound coming from within Snape's dungeon when Harry reached it at precisely ten o'clock. Harry rapped his knuckles on the wood and the sound ceased… but he heard no answer. He hesitated a few moments, then knocked again. Still, the Potions Master's trademark greetings did not come.

Harry's heart gave a hopeful leap. Today's was a wandless lesson – which was not so bad as Potions tutorials… but the sky was a glorious blue and the night's storm had relieved the stifling humidity of the past few days. He would love a morning out of doors on his Firebolt…

'Are you deaf, Potter?'

The dungeon door had been thrown open while Harry's mind wandered. Snape stood framed in its entrance, his long, hooked nose a bit ruddy and his scowl firmly in place. Harry noticed his voice was rather less than its usual silk.

'Sorry, sir,' Harry said, stepping quickly to pass Snape into the classroom. 'I didn't hear you call.'

Snape shut the door softly enough, but gave an irritated sniff. Harry dropped his things beside his usual chair and sat, waiting for instruction. Snape sneezed before he began.

'Er… are you okay, professor?' Harry asked, feeling obligated.

Snape did not bother to reply.

'We shall be working on something new today, Potter,' he said instead. He held out a hand for Harry's wand, and Harry passed it over. 'As you seem to have managed a passable Summoning Charm at long last, I wish to move into the Levitation Charm.'

Harry sat up a bit straighter, feeling more confident than he usually did in this room. He had been levitating, after all, for almost three years now.

'The levitation charm is simple magic,' Snape went on. 'You will have learned it in your first year of Charms.'

'First lesson,' Harry corrected. 'Professor Flitwick taught –'

He broke off his interruption at Snape's scowl.

'Sorry, sir,' he amended quickly.

Snape blew his nose loudly before continuing. 'The levitation _charm_ differs from the levitation _spell_ , as undoubtedly Professor Flitwick will have advised you. It is a simple magic, but far more useful than its cousin. While _levioso_ will cause an object to hover, _wingardium leviosa_ improves on the original incantation, and is generally preferred. Why is that, Potter?'

'Er –' Harry hesitated a moment. He knew both spells… but it had been some time since this lecture in Charms.

Snape sighed impatiently. 'I am not asking you to quote Professor Flitwick's words,' he complained. 'I would not presume to imagine you had studied them with any more fervour than you appear to commit mine to memory. I am merely asking you, Potter, to utilise your common sense. What does the levitation _charm_ allow that the simple spell does not?'

'Well, _levioso_ only works if you actually touch the object,' Harry remembered. 'So you can't do it unless the object's within reach.'

Snape inclined his head. 'One benefit,' he said. 'And the other?'

Harry had a fleeting image of a huge club thunking off the head of a mountain troll.

'You can direct the levitated object, with the charm,' he answered. 'The levitation spell will make it hover, but it can't be moved or controlled in the air.'

'Precisely,' Snape agreed. 'The Levitation Charm is far superior for this second attribute. Though the magic is simplistic, controlling the airborne object can become much harder. The skill of the caster and the weight of the object factor into a wizard's ability to maintain finite control, and it becomes more difficult to force the object into complex movement or keep it off the ground for a length of time. It requires strength of magic as well as strength of concentration. It is, of course, the main reason the levitation charm is revisited several times in the lead up to O.W.L. charms work.'

Harry nodded as Snape paused to clear his throat. 'Yes, sir.'

'The charm is an appropriate next step in your wandless spellwork, Potter,' Snape said. 'The focus pairs well with the Summoning Charm, and it shall be an excellent exercise in mastering finite control. When you are proficient in wandless magic, you ought to be able to direct an object's movement with your very hand. The most proficient wizards, in fact, can exercise certain direction with force of the mind alone.'

Harry swallowed, bravado fading. He could tell, by the look of pleasure in Snape's obsidian gaze, that this magic was going to be immensely difficult. He nodded all the same.

'Good,' Snape approved. 'We shall start small, then.'

He waved his wand through the air, conjuring a long eagle feather not unlike those on which Harry had first learned the spell.

'Wordlessly,' Snape instructed. 'This is a spell of direction, like the Summoning Charm. Incanting wordlessly ought to help you with the focus.'

Harry pushed up his sleeves, and concentrated on the feather as hard as he could, mentally chanting ' _wingardium leviosa!_ '

To his surprise, the feather twitched a moment, then floated three feet off the surface of the desk.

'I did it!' Harry said in shock. Of course, the exclamation broke his concentration, and the feather fluttered down as he released his mental hold.

Snape sneezed again, but his eye-roll was not hampered by the handkerchief. 'For a time,' he said snidely. He brandished his own wand and five hoops appeared, hovering at various heights in the air around the classroom.

'Again, Potter,' he instructed. 'And this time, you will guide the feather through the hoops.'

He retreated to his own desk as he finished, sinking into his chair. Though he looked drawn, he did not remove his calculating stare from Harry.

' _Again_ ,' he prompted.

Harry said the charm mentally once more. The feather rose more quickly this time, bobbing gently level with his nose. Concentrating hard on keeping the connection, Harry moved his hand slowly to the right, sweeping the feather toward the nearest hoop. Its movements were jerky and stubborn… but, eventually, he managed to glide it through.

He didn't exclaim in joy this time. Instead, he focused hard on the next hoop. The feather, though so light, seemed to grow heavier and more unruly as he pushed it for the second target. It hit the metal sides twice, but slipped through on the third attempt. Harry was nearly panting now with the effort.

'Let it fall,' Snape advised huskily.

Harry dropped his arm so that the feather fluttered to the floor by the supply cupboard. He sank into his seat, rubbing at his hand – which felt lie it was full of pins and needles from the constant flow of magic.

'Not too appalling,' Snape said ungraciously. He swept out from behind his desk to give Harry his usual once over. His eyes fixed on Harry's massage. 'Is it paining you?' he asked sharply.

Harry, still rather breathless, shook his head. 'Not really,' he clarified. 'It tingles a bit.'

Snape coughed into his elbow. He cast some sort of charm over himself and stepped forward toward Harry. 'Give it here,' he commanded, holding out his hand for Harry's.

Harry hesitated only a fraction under the obsidian stare. Snape flipped his arm to examine the palm, running two long fingers over the surface. Harry felt the gentle brush as though it were made by steel bristles, but he said nothing.

'Too much, as usual,' Snape griped, moving his grip so that he was clasping Harry's wrist instead. 'Your pulse is rapid. You are pouring more magic than is needed into the task.'

Harry frowned, snatching his hand back as Snape released him. 'I got it through the hoops,' he defended.

'Two,' Snape corrected around yet another sneeze. 'And then _I_ forced you to stop, lest you drive yourself to collapse once again. You are unnecessarily over-extending the magic.'

'Well, how do I _not_ overextend?' Harry challenged. 'I couldn't have done it with _less_ force – it was almost impossible as it was.'

'You are equating focus with strength, yet again,' Snape accused. 'You suffer from the misguided belief that if you put more behind the spell, it will serve to make it more effective – and this is incorrect in precision magic. You are aiming to direct the object; you must use your abilities to guide its path. You are not blasting through rock to create one. When you push to make the spell stronger, you are merely channelling more of your energy into the connection itself – a wasted effort. The connection has formed. Utilise it like a string, Potter. Pull it this way and that, so that the object moves along the strand. Concentrate on _this_ aspect, rather than trying to make the string a rope. You must trust that your connection is secure. Have the confidence, and it will not break.'

Harry furrowed his brow as he thought over Snape's words. The professor clicked his fingers, and a glass of water appeared on the desk.

'Take a moment before you resume,' Snape told him.

Harry sipped the water, surprised that Snape was not forcing a draught on him. When he had finished, he found that Snape had returned the feather to the surface of the work table. He was wiping his nose with a handkerchief again.

'What are you waiting for, Potter?' he barked.

Harry cast the spell. The feather drifted upwards – easier, this time. Harry tried to follow Snape's advice. He felt the connection… and, instead of pushing into it, he tried to manoeuvre it. He moved his palm upward, and the feather floated with it. He pushed forward, and the feather moved too. He went a little to the right and forward again, and the feather glided through the first hoop. He pushed up and to the left, and in one easy movement it cleared the second.

Harry was not even panting. He smiled, just a bit.

The third hoop was farther down, and Harry swept his arm, stopping just before the feather hit the floor. He gave it an infinitesimal lift, and the feather popped lightly through its third circle.

He was surprised. Rather than tiring as he had the first time, Harry found that the movements were growing easier; more natural. He could feel the connection with his palm, but it was a gentle one – as if the feather itself were caressing his fingers. The light brush reminded him, oddly, of the touch of Dumbledore's magic, when the latter was cast upon himself.

He grinned as he finished, successfully casting the feather through the sixth hoop and bringing it down again upon his desk.

'I've done it,' he said quietly, turning a shining face to Snape.

Snape was coughing again and looking unimpressed. Without comment, he flicked his own wrist at an inkwell perched atop a stack of books on the edge of his desk. It shot across the classroom to land in front of Harry.

'Again, Potter,' he instructed. 'And mind you don't spill ink on my classroom floor, unless you'd like to spend the whole of tomorrow scrubbing it neat.'

Harry scowled, but cast the levitation spell. He could tell that the connection would be more difficult to maintain this time, as the inkwell was much heavier than the feather. It bobbed a bit more precariously in the air before him.

'Same principles apply, Potter,' Snape said softly, nearly breaking Harry's concentration. 'The inkwell is more substantial, but the properties of the spell do not change. Determine what strength you need to keep the connection, and move past it to direct the object of the charm.'

It took Harry a few minutes to find a level of magic that seemed to work for the inkwell. Once he did, however, manoeuvring it was no harder than the feather had been. It took more energy to be sure – because he had to maintain the stronger connection – but it moved just as easily at the wave of his hand.

He was tired, this time, when at last the little jar cleared its final hurdle and came to rest again upon the work table. Snape withdrew it without a word, and this time sent a textbook over for Harry's use. He waved his wand at the hoops to widen them.

'Again,' he said simply.

Over and over Harry was made to complete the task: with the book, with a set of heavy gold scales and, finally, with a pewter cauldron. Each item was more difficult than the last, but never again did Harry let the charm falter before completing the obstacle course.

Snape's coughing fits seemed to grow harsher and more frequent as Harry's lesson pressed on. He wondered, rather wildly, whether his unexpected success was making Snape's cold worse.

At last, Snape banished the cauldron back to its hook with a flick of his wand.

'A wholly productive morning,' he said by way of acknowledgement of Harry's achievement. 'You have shown yourself almost teachable today, Potter.'

'Thanks,' Harry said drily.

Snape nodded at him to sit and Harry did – grateful for the large glass of water that Snape refilled for him. A phial popped up beside it.

'One of your own concoction,' Snape informed him, uncorking the potion.

Harry took it, but studied the brew with narrowed eyes through the phial. 'You're… er… you're certain it's alright, sir?'

Snape coughed, but Harry thought this time it was supposed to have been in scorn. 'I would not give you poison, Potter,' he reiterated.

He glared at Harry's blatant disbelief. 'The potion is not the quality of my own,' he said peevishly, 'But it is a passable brew. Its effectiveness shall be more than adequate for this purpose.'

Mollified – and just a tiny bit proud – Harry popped the stopper and downed the draught. He shuddered. Made by his own hand or Snape's, it seemed, Invigoration Draught did not lose its bitterness.

Snape coughed deeply again. Harry gave him a wary eye as he passed over the empty phial – careful not to touch Snape's fingers.

'Maybe you ought to see Madam Pomfrey, sir,' he suggested. 'If you're… er…'

'I hardly think _you_ are capable of advising doxies on the prudence of a trip to the hospital wing,' Snape spat back at him.

Harry felt himself flush. 'Fine,' he said, standing with a shrug.

He gathered his bag, and made for the door. He had almost reached it when the Potions Master spoke again.

'Take this also, Potter,' Snape barked after him.

Harry turned, just in time to spot the small glass phial spinning through the air toward his face. With the unerring skill of a Seeker, he caught it up an inch from his nose. He recognised the bright orange at once.

' _I'm_ not the one with a cold, sir,' he said pointedly. 'What do I need Pepper-Up for?'

Snape's sneer was slightly less effective when punctuated by a sneeze. He brushed fleetingly at his dripping nose and glowered at his pupil.

'You have never yet managed to avoid trouble when it crosses your path, Potter,' he taunted. 'And I do not care to hear from your Head of House should you turn up snotty and snivelling in the Great Hall tomorrow. Drink the potion, and get out.'

Harry would have loved to throw a hot retort of his own… but something told him Snape was not in the mood for sparring this morning. Instead, he threw down the potion with what he considered incredible grace, and – just for cheek – floated the empty phial into Snape's bin.

'Feel better, sir,' he said with a smirk of his own.

He could have sworn – almost – that Snape's face held a ghost of approval as he closed the dungeon door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Oh dear,' Albus said, appraising the Potions Master as he entered the study in the late afternoon. Severus had chosen the hour quite deliberately – conscious that the irritating Gryffindor would be in lessons with his Head of House. 'You are looking rather the worse for wear, Severus.'

The professor waved off the concern with an impatient hand. 'I am perfectly fine,' he said stiffly.

The headmaster gave him a quelling look. 'Indeed,' he said with a bit of Severus' usual sarcasm. 'You certainly sound it. I do believe Poppy is staying in the castle tonight, should you –'

'I am a Potioneer by trade, Albus,' Severus cut across silkily. 'I am perfectly capable of procuring Pepper-Up for myself.'

'Indeed you are,' Albus agreed with a small smile. 'Which leaves one to wonder why you have yet to address it.'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'Shall we discuss my trifling cold, Albus?' he demanded. 'Or would you care for news from London?'

Albus sighed deeply. 'Very well,' he agreed. 'But I do insist you sit, Severus. I shall call for some peppermint tea at the least.'

'As you wish,' Severus said with a jerk of his head. Truth be told, he was grateful to be off his feet – however exasperating the headmaster's concern might be.

Albus strengthened the fire and placed the tea request with a House-elf. Despite his exhaustion, Severus watched him with the suspicion of a knarl. He would be damned if he let the old man slip something into the brew; and experience had taught him to expect such duplicity.

He rather thought Albus' eyes were twinkling in knowing amusement as he passed over the peppermint brew and watched Severus sniff at it suspiciously. If he found the inspection odd, however, he did not comment.

'Our conversation can wait,' the headmaster said graciously. 'If you would rather get some rest.'

'Certainly not,' Severus huffed in impatience. 'I would much rather discuss the situation while it is fresh on my mind.'

'Very well,' the headmaster relented with a sigh. 'So tell me, Severus, what news of our… friends?'

'Fletcher will be at the Hogs Head tonight,' Severus informed him without preamble. 'I found him thieving about in an alleyway, as is his wont. I have given him your direction, headmaster. Though I did not offer details of what you are to discuss.'

Albus inclined his head. 'Very good,' he approved. 'And, the others?'

'Yaxley is rather unnerved,' Severus told him. 'But he will answer the call should it come. He has been avoiding Lucius Malfoy. I had harsh words with him about it. He questioned my loyalty, as is to be expected… but he was not hard to talk down. I am certain that should Lucius desire another gathering after his son returns to school, Yaxley will be in attendance.'

'And what of Selwyn?'

Severus rubbed a hand over his aching temple. 'Less of a certainty,' he admitted. 'He is scared – that much was clear. Whether he will throw in with the Dark Lord or attempt to remain on the fringes, I cannot be sure.'

'Do you think him a possibility to be turned?' Albus asked, looking interested.

'Not a chance,' Severus said firmly. 'He is –'

He broke off a moment to cough into his hand. Albus passed him the tea again.

'He hasn't the spine for it,' he said. 'He is cowardly in the extreme. He fears the Dark Lord's return… but not for the reasons Yaxley does. He was never a Death Eater; he does not fear the Dark Lord's wrath for his abandonment. He wishes only to be uninvolved in the ensuing war. He likes the mundane routine of his quiet life. But he will not stand against the Dark Lord openly, and he has not the skill to serve as an informant. His mind is easily pliable.'

'Very well,' said Albus, with only a hint of disappointment. 'It is not as though we had expected anything less. And have you heard from Lucius himself of late?'

'Nothing since the end of last week,' Severus confirmed. 'He is not likely to make any additional movement right now – not while Draco remains at home. He is an inquisitive child, and Narcissa in particular is indulgent. Lucius will not wish to discuss such matters in Draco's hearing. I was surprised to have been called to the manor before.'

Albus nodded again. 'What of the others?' he asked.

Severus stirred his tea, thinking it over. 'I think perhaps Nott would be the best next to investigate,' he told him. 'Unfortunately, he is also one of the more difficult. I never had a particularly close relationship with him. It would be easier, I think, if I could somehow convince Lucius to take me along to pay a call… but I don't wish to arouse suspicion.'

'No,' Albus agreed, looking worried. 'Perhaps it is best left to a later date, Severus. We are running great risks already.'

'Yes,' Severus acknowledged. 'But we don't know how much time we have left, headmaster. If the Dark Lord should return… if he does not accept me back into the fold… we could lose our only chance to –'

'You are a skilled Occlumens,' Albus assured him. 'You will pass that test.'

Severus grimaced. 'I may and I may not,' he said. 'It is as much dependent on his temper as my skill, Albus. I would be a fool to assume anything.'

The deep lines in Albus' face grew sharper. 'You do not have to return, Severus,' he said quietly. 'If you believe the danger is truly so great… you _should_ not return.'

'I made my choice long ago, Albus,' Severus said curtly. 'I will not unmake it now. But nor am I fool enough not to see the advantage to planning for contingency.'

Albus was watching him closely. Severus looked away to cough again into his sleeve, uncomfortable with the intensity of the gaze.

'If there is nothing else,' he said gruffly.

'No, my dear boy. Not at this time.'

Severus nodded. He set the empty teacup aside and pushed himself out of the chair. Lightheaded, he staggered slightly.

'Perhaps we ought to cancel Harry's lesson tomorrow,' Albus added as he steadied Severus on his feet.

The professor pulled his arm back with a glare. 'I have already dosed him,' he informed the headmaster bluntly. 'There is no possibility that Potter will –'

'I am not concerned for Harry,' Albus told him gently. 'At the moment, I am concerned for you. I think, perhaps, a day of rest might be in order, my dear boy. You are not a machine.'

Severus grimaced as he made for the fireplace. 'I shall take a potion tonight,' he assured him. 'And you may tell Potter that I am expecting a draft of his Potions essay in the morning.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The following morning found Harry seated again in Snape's classroom, working feverishly over a cauldron of antipyretic while he tried not to glance at the front of the room, where Snape's curtain of greasy hair shrouded most of his summer essay.

He knew it was not up to Snape's expectations. He had only been a quarter of the way through up until last night, when Albus had given a warning that Snape may ask for it in today's lesson.

He was tired. He had had to ask the headmaster to forgo their evening Occlumency lesson so that he could work on finishing the essay, and it had taken him until half two to reach a concluding point. Twice, he had needed to feign sleep so that Albus would not force him to abandon the assignment. Harry knew that if he _had_ spoken up, the headmaster probably would have stepped in with Snape and insisted that he be given more time to complete the task… but the ensuing battle of egos and the diatribe he would have been bound to receive after such an interference was not a prospect that Harry cherished. He had decided, in the end, that a morning's over-tiredness was a fair price to pay for its avoidance.

The essay would not be decent. Then again, parading Harry's ineptitudes in Potions was perhaps Snape's favourite pastime, and Harry's recent improvements in his term lessons had not given much opportunity to enjoy it. He supposed, really, he was doing Snape a favour.

The scratching of Snape's scarlet-inked quill continued as Harry shaved his willow bark. He chanced a quick peek, but he could not deduce at this distance what Snape had taken issue with. The Potions Master was looking fully recovered this morning, and Harry guessed that he had taken some of his own Pepper-up after forcing it on Harry the previous day.

Thirty minutes later, Harry pushed back from the cauldron at last – wiping sweat from his brow as he set the finished potion to stew for the indicated fifteen minutes.

'Finished, Potter?' the professor asked, rolling Harry's scroll with a flourish.

Harry nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

Snape's chair gave a grating screech as he stood and swept out from behind the desk to peer critically into Harry's cauldron.

'Too heavy-handed with the lavender,' he assessed, sniffing in an unenthusiastic sort of way above the glistening brew.

'Can't be!' Harry protested. He leaned over the cauldron himself. 'The book says three sprigs – that's what I put in.'

'It is too much,' Snape insisted.

Harry scowled. 'How can that be, sir, if that's what the book said to do?'

'The book does not brew the potion for you, Potter. It provides the receipt and guidelines… but every attempt to brew is unique. Your inability to recognise this is perhaps the greatest impediment to your ever becoming truly adept in Potions.'

Harry felt his cheeks flame brightly. 'They're the books _you_ assigned,' he accused. 'What's the point, if they're not right?'

'They are not incorrect,' Snape informed him sternly. 'But Potions requires a certain natural intuition, Potter – to fill in the gaps between what is uniform instruction and what, in product, is perfection.'

He sneered slightly at Harry's confused face. 'The book informs you that you must use three sprigs of lavender. And yet, each sprig is unique, is it not, Potter? Some are large, some are small. Some have very few blooms at all, and some are plentiful.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said tentatively. 'But I don't see how –'

'Because of this variation,' Snape continued over him, 'It is impossible to be sure that three sprigs will always glean the same amount of the ingredient. Do you understand?'

'I – yes,' Harry said.

'So you must use your other senses,' Snape said. 'You must recognise _why_ you are adding the ingredient, and the signs that will indicate its proper use. The text denotes that the lavender should be mixed in slowly, until the steam wafting from the brew bears just a hint of its scent. _Your_ brew is strongly scented. And this distinct secretion you see at the centre is formed by an excess of the lavender oil. Hence – too much lavender.'

Harry studied the oily puddle bubbling gently atop the potion. His shoulders slumped.

'In future, you shall remember that brewing potions is an active process, not merely an exercise in how precisely you can read and follow addition, Potter,' Snape finished.

'Does that mean the potion is useless, sir?' Harry asked in defeat.

'Not useless, no,' Severus disagreed. 'It shall work perfectly well to reduce fever, and yet the excess of lavender in combination with the holly berries will enhance a certain side effect. Which one, Potter?'

Harry thought hard on the properties of lavender, and those of holly.

'It… might make the drinker more tired,' he realised slowly.

Snape inclined his head. 'Precisely.'

'Well,' Harry said, slightly more chipper, 'I suppose that's not too bad then.'

Snape did not comment. He summoned over a case of phials and sat them on the work table.

'When the allotted time for simmer has run, you will ladle the potion into these,' he told Harry. 'Use the brass ladle on the seventeenth hook – it is spelled with a cooling charm.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry agreed.

Snape reached into a pocket of his long robes, and pulled out the inked-up scroll that was Harry's summer essay. His sneer returned, more pronounced than ever.

'You may use the intervening time to begin your revision of _this_ ,' he said, tossing the scroll onto the crate of phials. ' _That_ effort, Potter, _was_ atrocious.'

Harry grimaced as he picked up the scroll. He did not offer words to defend himself. He knew Snape was right.

'Yes, sir,' he agreed again.

The remainder of Harry's day was not nearly as trying as the morning's Potions lesson had been. He took luncheon out in the grounds on his own, spread out on a blanket by the lake with Mina for company. He wrote a reply to Cho Chang while he chewed at a sandwich, talking aloud to the House-elf to ensure his sentences did not sound too stupid.

Minerva met him in the grounds and took him flying for a bit before their scheduled lesson, bringing the news that Neville's grandmother had agreed he could come for Harry's birthday at the end of the month. They stayed out of doors for the lesson itself, and Harry spent an unusually entertaining hour learning what Minerva called 'survivalist tricks': how to turn fallen leaves into bandages, rocks into soft pillows, and branches into lengths of rope. Harry wasn't sure what use most of this would be; but it was a nice break from their usual classroom.

He was in a very good temper and slightly brown from the sun, when he headed back up to the headmaster's quarters to change before supper. To his slight surprise, when he reached the oak doors with their griffin knocker, he could hear a lively conversation within. He knocked a bit uncertainly.

'Enter,' Albus' voice called out.

Harry pushed the door ajar, and saw that the headmaster had a visitor: the excitable and boyish-faced Ludo Bagman, whom Harry had met in France.

'Oh, I'm sorry, sir,' Harry apologised quickly. 'I didn't realise you had company. I was just going up to…'

'Not a problem – not a problem at all, my dear boy,' said Ludo Bagman jovially, bouncing on his feet as he came over to wring Harry's hand in greeting. 'I must say, what a lovely surprise it is to see you, Harry.'

'I, er…' Harry looked to Dumbledore, not sure what he was to say.

Albus smiled. 'Yes – as I explained in France, Mr Bagman, Harry is staying at the castle for a few weeks.'

'Of course, of course,' Bagman agreed, still wringing Harry's hand as he nodded.

'I apologise, Harry,' Albus said, checking his pocket watch. 'I am afraid I had quite lost track of the hour.'

'No problem, sir,' Harry said.

'But I believe we are almost done here, are we not, Ludo?' Albus added, looking to Bagman again.

'Oh yes, yes,' Bagman agreed. He let go of Harry's hand so he could wave his own through the air. 'Yes – all my important business for today has been sorted, I think. Just, as I was saying… Ought to have secured the goblet from Beauxbâtons last week, of course… but Bertha's decided to extend her continental holiday without notice. Can't reach her for the life of me.'

Harry felt Albus stiffen beside him. He glanced up, and saw that the headmaster was frowning.

'She left quite a time ago now, did she not?' he asked. 'You say she gave no notice of an extension of absence?'

'No… no, none at all,' Bagman went on, wiping at his chin with an almost comical expression of disappointment. 'Due to arrive back this past Tuesday, she was. But Bertha's always been a bit scattered, ever since she came into the department. I say, it's lucky she's not been much involved with the Quidditch World Cup!'

He patted Harry on the back as though the student should be expected to understand the joke. Harry shot a raised eyebrow at Dumbledore… but the headmaster was still focused on Bagman.

'You believe she has forgotten the date?' Albus asked, looking politely incredulous.

Bagman chortled good naturedly. 'Oh, no – not even!' he laughed. 'I think she bungled the whole holiday! I wrote the cousin she was to stay with, you know, when I hadn't heard from her by Thursday morning. _She_ says Betha never arrived. Hadn't heard a dicky-bird!'

Albus' incredulity hardened to obvious concern. Harry looked between the two men in confusion.

'That sounds a bit unnerving,' the headmaster noticed. 'And, forgive me… but it is not like the Bertha Jorkins that I remember at Hogwarts. If you need any assistance –'

But Ludo Bagman waved a dismissive hand, still chuckling to himself. 'Oh, don't trouble yourself, Albus, don't trouble yourself. Can't have you worrying about it, can we, with so much coming up here?'

He wagged a suggestive eyebrow at Harry, grinning his excitement. But Harry, still conscious of Dumbledore's disapproval, did not crack a smile.

Bagman sighed heavily. 'I'm telling you, she'll turn up one way or another,' he insisted. 'I'll have some of my people look into it – if we don't hear from her by the end of the month. But really… this sort of thing isn't that unexpected, with Betha. I've known her a fair few years now.'

'Indeed,' said Albus, still frowning. 'Well, do let me know if you need assistance, Ludo. I am never too busy for a situation like this.'

'Where did you say she went on holiday?' Harry piped up, curious.

The Ministry man shook his head. 'Well… that's anyone's guess now, isn't it? Supposed to have been Albania, but I expect -'

Harry knew Bagman had continued with his prattle… but he did not hear it. Something else was ringing in his ears. The room seemed to be tunnelling, Albus and Bagman's voices growing farther and farther away; like they were trying to speak beneath the water.

He knew – without knowing precisely how he did – that it was the woman.

It was her.

As if in agreement, he could feel his scar pulse sickeningly. The shock and horror of it all sent his stomach roiling.

'Harry?'

It was Albus' voice. Harry blinked, and found the headmaster had stooped slightly to peer into his face. Albus' strong hand gripped his shoulder. His gaze was sharp and omniscient, and Harry knew the headmaster recognised his own thoughts.

Bagman had stopped his babbling, looking puzzled by the sudden tension in the room.

'I… Excuse me,' Harry muttered. He practically threw himself toward the stairs, leaving Bagman watching dumbstruck from the fireside and Albus with a furrowed brow beside him.

He stumbled up the steps, cupping a hand to his mouth as soon as the study disappeared from view. He staggered on the landing – hands groping wildly for the wall to guide him down the corridor. He knocked a vase flying off a side table, but did not stop. He vaguely registered its shatter behind him.

He only barely collapsed in front of the basin in time.

 _Albania… She had gone to Albania…_

And there, he knew, she had died.

He vomited violently; over and over, until the burn of bile singed his throat. When at last he had finished, he laid his still pounding head against the cool of the porcelain, gripping the edges with his fingers to stop their trembling.

 _Bertha Jorkins…_

The woman had a name. She had had a life… a job… interests and hobbies. She had a family. Somewhere, there was a cousin who had never seen her arrive. Who did not know…

Who did not see her disfigured, ruined form when she shut her eyes…

Who had not watched Lord Voldemort snuff the life from her chest.

'Harry?'

He did not lift his head. A soft hand rested on his shoulder, another against his brow. There was a whispered charm, and the putrid stench of vomit vanished as the water flowed away.

Albus did not speak. He stayed there, crouched on the tile floor, rubbing softly at Harry's back. Harry let him.

'Is he gone?' he croaked out at last. 'Bagman?'

'Yes,' Albus confirmed. 'He has gone back to London.'

Harry pushed himself off the floor. Albus steadied him as he stood, and turned him round so he could sit properly on the lid instead. He studied him with serious eyes.

'Is your scar hurting?' he asked after a moment.

Harry shook his head. 'It did, for a minute,' he admitted. 'But it's faded now. I don't know if it was really there at all, or just a memory…'

Albus nodded gravely, still bent over so they were at eye-level.

'It was her,' Harry said dully. 'I know it. The woman that Voldemort…' he shuddered at the memory. 'It was her.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'I am almost certain. There will be little chance of proving it, of course – not unless the Ministry is successful in discovering her body; and I do not doubt that Voldemort has planned for such an investigation.'

Harry shivered. Albus, watching him closely, tested his cheeks with the back of his hand.

'You are not feverish,' he said as he took the hand back, frowning. 'Are you still feeling unwell?'

Harry shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'It's just… I don't like thinking about it. I didn't even know her, but I watched her die. And now, nobody will ever find her again. Bagman, the Ministry, her family…'

'It is a horrible situation,' Albus agreed. 'And a familiar one. The last time Lord Voldemort rose to power, things were much the same. Unexplained disappearances, murders never satisfactorily solved… It is, I admit, not unexpected for those of us who realise that darkness will rise again.'

Harry sighed. 'I'm sorry I lost it,' he mumbled. 'I wasn't expecting…'

'Do not apologise, Harry,' Albus said softly. 'I was taken by surprise myself. Your reaction was hardly uncalled for. Are you certain you feel alright now?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah,' he said, trying to sound a bit more pulled together. 'Yeah, I… I'm fine.'

He pushed himself to his feet, wiping at his face to remove the traces of his collapse. Albus watched him sadly.

'You are not,' he disagreed in a quiet voice. 'But you are as well, I think, as I have any cause to expect.'

He sighed as he opened the door.

'Come along,' he said, gesturing Harry out of the loo ahead of him. 'I shall retrieve something for your stomach. It is nearly time for dinner.'

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Thirteen** :

 **Mawenn35** : Thank you for your review! Very happy that you're loving the story, and that you enjoyed Harry's little reaction to confirming the truth about Albus and Minerva. We will geet a bit more of their relationship, including what Minerva knows about Ariana and how… though I can't tell you much more than that without spoilers. I do hope you'll enjoy it, and that you'll like Chapter Fourteen!

 **Wide Eyed and Curious** : Thank you for reviewing! And I'm glad you're still enjoying the writing well enough to review :D. Yes – the block on Harry's Summoning Charm is certainly a psychosomatic one. There's been hints about this since the seventh chapter of Part I, of course, when we see the scene where Petunia strikes him for it through Severus' perspective in flashback. That Severus ends up as the person to confront Harry about it is highly uncomfortable for the Potions Master… but really, as Harry's instructor in Wandless Magic, it had to be him :). I'm glad you enjoy his characterisation – I try to be truthful to Jo's original, of course, but there are bound to be evolutions with the changed circumstances in the COH series. I hope it will seem a natural progression. The World Cup… should be fun, haha. I'm afraid that is all I can say without spoiling things. We are still a couple of chapters away, but I think it will propel us nicely into the start of term.

I hope you like Chapter Fourteen!

 **Theflowerdaisy** : Thanks for your review! Happy to hear you've discovered the series, and I really appreciate you sharing your thoughts! Ariana – she is definitely Albus' Achilles heel. I almost held off on this scene… but, in the end, it felt like the right moment for it. It's certainly the most vulnerable we have ever seen Albus – and, perhaps more importantly, the most vulnerable Harry has ever seen him. He is desperately sad, and desperately guilt-ridden… which his reluctance to share the occurrence with Aberforth somewhat illustrates. Harry and Snape – yes, they have come rather far. They will certainly never have the sort of relationship that Harry and Remus have developed, but now that Snape is so entrenched in Harry's education, he is forced to have conversations he most definitely would never have done in canon. This is perhaps the third time we have seen him in such an openly 'counselling' role – and the first, really, that did not directly involve Severus' commitment to Lily, which to me was what made it so important in his arc. Is he more bark than bite? Yes, I think so, in some ways… though I would not say he is _without_ bite, lol. As an abused child himself, I think Severus connects with Harry on this one point in a way that Remus and even Albus cannot… and something in Severus recognises that. Of course, Severus still does not 'know' Harry as intimately as the others do – and they are quite different wizards, as we see from the different ways in which they approach their pasts. Severus, driven in his youth by a thirst to prove himself, to spite his father and fulfil his ambitions – a course that ultimately led to his involvement with the Death Eaters – suggests defiance as a motivator, as it is what worked for him. But Harry is a product of James, Lily and – at this point – Albus. And he chooses a different path. A different emotion.

Ah, Grindelwald's vision. I cannot confirm everything of course, and I don't want to spoil COH for you… but I will give you the hint that your guess is along the right line of thought, but not entirely correct. Certainly, Gellert was not truly in the images. Some of the events in The Deathly Hallows _will_ occur, and some will not. Not everyone will survive the series. I have written many of the bigger death scenes already (I periodically write portions of the different planned books in this series as inspiration strikes, and return to them as we get closer to their occurrence). As to Albus' ultimate fate… we shall see.

The anagram! My god, that took me ages to decide upon. Somewhere in my desk, there are probably still pages of crossed out letters and scribbled phrases… But it struck me about two years ago now that 'Ignotus Peverell' was rather an odd choice of name. Ignatius of Antioch famously philosophised on death and the Christian immortality, so it is not improbable that Ignotus is a play on his name. 'Ignotus' is also Latin for 'unknown' or 'inscrutable', and is also sometimes translated as 'forgiven'. JKR is fond of anagrams… and, for whatever reason, it struck me that this character's name might be one. She so rarely leaves anything to chance. That said, I have absolutely no idea whether this is pure coincidence. The verb 'sing', of course, is a nod to the bard, as in ancient tradition bards sang their stories. Dumbledore's story, naturally, is that love is the greatest of all magics.

The genealogy research will have a few twists of its own – but you will certainly find out in coming chapters. I hope you like the next instalment!

 **Undeniably** **Uzumaki** : Thanks for reviewing, and glad you enjoyed the chapter! As to the anagram – it is my own creation for purposes of this story. Whether it was JKR's intent, I have no idea. That would be a lovely surprise… and, frankly, would not shock me as she so rarely leaves anything to coincidence. If that is the case, then I suppose it is more my 'discovery' than my actual creation. Ooh, pairing possibilities arise. As usual, things are not always as they appear… but as to Cho, I think that one will play out in an interesting light. I have no scruples in admitting I don't consider her the ultimate pairing here, but I also think its foolish when fanfictions pursue some sort of mated for life philosophy for children. These are teenagers – 'love you forever' is about five minutes for most of them. I'm happy to have been able to surprise for now! Hope you like Chapter Fourteen!

 **Babascoop** : So excited you are back, and thank you for the reviews! I'm going to post all my responses here.

Chapter 8… very glad you liked the Albus flashback scene! Indeed, Grindelwald has influenced Albus in much more than the Deathly Hallows aspect – and some of that is starting to surface here. As to has Albus, and Ariana, had an effect on Gellert. That will continue to unfold throughout this story. And yes, I agree – Albus comment to Aberforth here was incredibly unkind; but, as you say, Albus was not born perfect… and here his is but seventeen. An interesting point about the Patronus and Harry… but yes, I _do_ think that Harry differs slightly from Remus in this respect. Remus, as we saw in Part II and particularly through his flashback to the day following Lily and James' deaths, is not always the strong person. Harry does struggle in canon Five to conjure the Patronus in Privet Drive after Cedric's death – but even so, he is more capable of doing so than Remus is. They are different men, and grief affects them in different ways.

Ooh the hospital scene. Severus and Sleeping Beauty… really, just too much temptation to avoid, lol. The point about potions and the natural state of plants is well taken (and I am sure my James would agree with you wholeheartedly). Of course, Potions – though certainly more 'natural' – really derive their potency because of their magical properties in most cases. As to the mercy Severus shows here… well, I can't comment on possible foreshadowing, of course, but it certainly was not included by chance. I am glad you enjoyed Josie – she was a fun addition to write. :) And yes – you definitely were on the right track with Harry's Patronus.

Chapter 9… No, Sirius does not really handle Regulus well does he? In some ways, Regulus was right – Sirius (at least the Sirius of the past) sees things in black and white. Not that Sirius _isn't_ right about the Dark Lord's cruelties, but he has difficulty seeing past this colossal mistake of loyalties to understand and reach his brother. Ultimately, Regulus feels quite as abandoned as Sirius claims to have been. And the tragedy, of course, is that this is their last interaction before Regulus' death. The issue with Severus, Albus, Harry and the art of Occlumency is approaching a head. I won't comment just now, but I think you'll see soon where this is all going.

Very glad you liked the bits from Albus' past again! Albus and Gellert's choices in indulgences are, of course, incredibly symbolic – both within their stories and without. On the numbers – a very interesting theory. Seven is the most powerfully magical number; I consider three and twelve in a close race for second, for many of the reasons you have already brought up. Nine… now that number _does_ have a significant role, but I shan't divulge it just yet. As to Fawkes – oh yes, we will absolutely see how Albus acquired his friendship. Harry and the sleeping potions… he _almost_ gives this away here, but bites his tongue last minute. We shall have the answer eventually. :)

Chapter 10… Glad you enjoyed it! Sirius and Harry's relationship post-POA is a fun era to get to explore. Chapter 11… Snape and Harry lessons are always an opportunity for a bit of fun. And really, Snape has a point – Harry nearly always manages some catastrophe. Kingsley _is_ a good man, and a skilled wizard. I am excited for the role he'll get to play now he's well in the mix. And yes, I agree entirely on the spat between Sirius and Severus probably solidifying his opinion of Sirius' innocence, haha.

Chapter 12… YES! I am glad you paused at that – because this _is_ the crucial difference between Riddle and Grindelwald, and – in my opinion – what makes Grindelwald in many ways a more dangerous wizard, and a more dangerous man. He is – as he mentioned way back in Part I in the very first Albus/Gellert scene, not a wizard without conscience, though so many, he points out, would probably disagree. To me, this was a deciding point in his characterisation. Sure we know Albus was young, that there were circumstances at play, etc. – and all of that will factor into COH's version of events. But even so, this _is_ Albus Dumbledore we are talking about. What is it about Gellert Grindelwald and his philosophies that was able to get such a clever wizard – at least for a time – to set aside certain scruples? What is it that made Grindelwald's power? It is, in simplest terms, his convictions. Grindelwald's philosophy (that becomes the 'greater good'), is not a pretext at all – it is deeply ingrained in his world view, and it is not without cause. On some level, Grindelwald truly believes his vision for a different world _is_ the best thing for everyone. As to the ending… yes, haha. Not the most glamourous form of cross-continental travel.

Ah and finally – Chapter 13! Very glad that you enjoyed it, first off. On Ariana… she is on of the most significant characters in this series – yet she so rarely appears. Why did she speak to Harry? Why did she say 'the Boy Who Lived'? Questions without obvious answers, I fear… The most simplistic is surely that she has heard much of Harry from her portrait home. But that, as undoubtedly you have guessed, is not the true reason behind her connection here. Harry is visibly stunned by the headmaster's reaction – for, no matter how often Dumbledore reminds him, he so rarely considers Albus as anything but venerable and strong. In the past, we see Albus embracing the Greater Good, and in the present, the weight of that choice.

So we learn of Grindelwald's vision… or, at least, of what it appears to be. _Was_ it the Trio he witnessed? Certainly, it was not himself. He definitely knows that Harry was born in Godric's Hollow. How much else has he seen, conjectured and/or guessed? We'll certainly find out… His increasing desire to meet Harry Potter is definitely linked to this puzzle. As to his intriguing claims to Bill – one of the more exciting bits we'll explore, I think. Nothing motivates a brilliant mind like competition.

Cho! Haha, I was _seriously_ torn including this – mostly as I _know_ (inner groan) that it will invariably start the cascade of pairing debates once again. Alas, I did feel it was time to awaken some hormones a bit. I confess I am personally more excited to have Neville make an appearance this summer. Harry and Severus – starting (maybe… perhaps… with baby steps) to reach a different place. It had to be Snape that assisted Harry in this – it is his subject; and it is his past. How that will affect them moving forward… well, I suppose we shall soon see.

So, now that you are caught up… I hope you'll enjoy Chapter Fourteen!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the last few chapters and the Deathly Hallows information. Harry's potion will make a resurgence in the next chapter. I hope you like the continuation!


	15. The Music of the Night

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Sorry this was delayed an extra five days – I did end up catching flu (I think I had told one reader in a review response that I'd been lucky in avoiding James' germs… but alas, I spoke prematurely it would seem). In any case – the chapter was finally edited this afternoon, and I am happy to be able to share it now! Get ready, because it is a long one.

With any luck, expect the next in a week or so.

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 **The Music of the Night**

 _It was the hottest day of the summer so far. The pavement seeped a shimmering haze that warned agony to those foolish enough to wander about without footwear, and flowers wilted in beds unused to the spell of arid weather in the midst of a Midlands July. Children ran about in their shorts or swimming costumes in front of the few houses willing to spare water from the garden hose, or pushed themselves as high as they could on the swings in the park, hopeful to imitate a breeze. Even the bees seemed to fly more slowly._

 _The townsfolk threw open their shutters and kept their lights low to drown the blaze, and moved with a lethargy that did not become a community built on labour. They grasped each other's hands at the market, waving fans in their freed fingers. They lamented their misfortune… chortled over how they'd never have thought they'd be wishing for the rain. Stooped little old gentlemen recounted the record-breaking summers of their youths to their tired-looking wives, and the local publicans marked up the prices for anything served chilled. At the corner shop, kinder parents bought their charges ice lollies and fizzy drinks._

 _Severus leaned back against the trunk of the yew tree, letting his legs dangle over the sides of his chosen bough. He glanced at his battered wristwatch. At almost that exact moment, he heard the soft crunch of light feet on stone. He drew his legs back up, listening hard in total stillness._

 _He did not receive an ice lolly. He did not have a garden hose or a cossie. But he did not care._

 _He had Lily._

 _'You're late,' he griped in mock consternation, swinging himself off the tree branch and landing crouched behind her._

 _She jumped, spinning in a whirl of deep scarlet._

 _'Sev!' she scolded. 'You gave me a fright.'_

 _He smirked. 'Sorry,' he lied._

 _She rolled her eyes. 'Mum and Dad left Tuney in charge while they went to some luncheon in Birmingham today,' she explained. 'She wouldn't let me go until I'd done the front garden.'_

 _Severus raised an eyebrow. 'Your parents made you prune in this heat?'_

 _Lily grimaced. 'No, of course not,' she corrected. 'Tuney said they needed doing. It's easier just to let her have it her way, sometimes.'_

 _Severus scowled. He did not agree. But Lily was sensitive when they discussed her sister… especially as Petunia had still not forgiven her for spending the year at Hogwarts while Petunia was stuck in the local Muggle secondary school. She got tearful whenever he pressed. So, Severus had learned not to._

 _'What should we do today?' Lily asked, popping up so that her fingers wrapped around the edges of the branch Severus had just vacated. 'It's rather hot to be outdoors.'_

 _She swung gently back and forth from her arms, apparently immune to the yew tree's rough touch on her ivory skin. Severus watched her with a small smile. It had been so much easier to slip back into their comfortable routine, now that they were away from the castle._

 _It was odd, really. He had spent his whole life yearning for Hogwarts – ever since he could remember. He could not wait to get out of his house; away from Tobias; away from the nasty, decrepit Spinners End – with its constant smell of milk gone off and its constant smatter of people gone off. And, in many ways, Hogwarts had been the dream he'd hoped for. He was great at magic, as he had always known he would be. He was in Slytherin, as he had always wanted. He was friendly with a few of the boys in his year, and had acquaintances even in the upper forms who appreciated his talents. He was out of that miserable house._

 _But…_

 _He had not seen as much of Lily as he would have preferred. Sure, they walked in the grounds from time to time. They sat out by the lake, or studied in the library together. They even had a few overlapping lessons in their timetables. But her life, really, lay beyond the Fat Lady's portrait… and his beneath the lake. She was away from him more often than they were together. At Hogwarts, he had to share Lily. And he had to share her, it seemed, with everyone._

 _Severus had acquaintances… but Lily had friends. Endless numbers of them. Everyone loved her – how could they not? She was kind and sweet, but she was no pushover. She was talented, but she never bragged. Teachers doted on her. Girls flocked to sit by her at supper and crowded her in the corridors. And then, of course, there were the boys… there was Potter…_

 _Severus had never thought he'd miss Cokeworth. He had never thought he would be grateful to return._

 _But in Cokeworth, Lily was only his._

 _'So let's not stay outdoors,' he suggested._

 _Lily let her grip relax, arching gently back to the ground. She made to rub her slightly dirty palms on her skirt but stopped just short, pulling a face as she realised she'd worn white. She turned her head about, scanning the ground for a patch of green grass they both knew would never emerge._

 _Gently, Severus reached forward. He took her hands and wiped at the remnants of bark with the edge of his own black sleeve._

 _'Thanks,' she said with a grateful smile. 'Merlin, Sev – aren't you boiling in that?'_

 _Severus shrugged. He was… but he wasn't going to relinquish the sleeves, either. Lily's eyes widened as she realised – and he moved on quickly to hide his embarrassment._

 _'So, inside then?' he reminded her._

 _Lily chewed her lower lip uncertainly. 'I… well, I don't know if mine is a good idea,' she admitted. 'You know Tuney – she's a bit…'_

 _'I wasn't thinking your house,' Severus assured her._

 _The chewing grew more frantic. 'Are your – er – are your parents –'_

 _Severus glowered. 'I would never take you there,' he spat._

 _Lily flushed deeply._

 _'Sorry,' he said – meaning it this time. 'It's just…'_

 _'I know,' she promised. 'So – where are we off to then?' she added, falsely bright._

 _Severus jerked his head to the right and started off down the path. 'Come on,' he invited. 'I'll show you.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It took three separate visits before the house was ready. After that first day, Severus came in the dead of night, performing his renovations under cover of darkness. After that first day, he did it methodically; refusing to allow the emotion that had ruled him in his moment of weakness to pervade his senses again.

He removed the remnants of the destroyed chair and transfigured the sofa into a darker leather that was more suited to his personality than holey fabric that reeked of stale cigarettes. He purchased two new armchairs, and a replacement coffee table that did not have the stain of spilt spirit. He visited a second-hand shop in Hogsmeade, and bought seven dozen Wizarding books to swap out for the Muggle nonsense that cluttered the shelves. He fitted a hidden door behind one of the old built-ins: his favourite improvement to the revolting space. In the new gap in the wall, he fashioned a second staircase to the first floor.

He refurnished the master bedroom, though he was not sure he would ever be able to bring himself to sleep in it. With a pang, he removed the photographs that had adorned the night table in his childhood room and laid out new, plainer bedding and several candles. The quilt that his grandmother had made, the photographs, and the few things he had chosen not to give to charity out of the cartons of his mother's belongings, he sent to Hogwarts to await him. It would not do to have such memories in this house.

Finally, Severus was left only with the piano.

He looked at it every time he came, debating what to do for the best. He was not overly keen to keep it in the house. He was not sure precisely why this was. Perhaps because this was a house without blessing… and the piano did not fit.

When at last he could delay no longer, Severus made a decision. He shrunk the second-hand upright and stuck it into his pocket. When he returned to the castle, he moved two of his own high bookshelves to the left, clearing a space along the far wall of his sitting room. He placed the miniature piano in the middle of it, and muttered the spell that would return it to its usual size. He stared at it when the spell had finished its work.

It was simple, really. Just an innocent collection of ivory, strings, metal and wood.

So… why did it haunt him so?

Why could he feel its pull? Why did its chipped and faded bench seem to sag at one side, as though holding the unseen burden of a slight human weight… as if someone were already sitting – warm and alive – laughing, and just waiting for him to play?

He fingered the photograph he had taken from the bed side of his childhood. After a moment, he set it on the edge of the instrument.

She grinned at him. The sun of twenty years ago gleamed orange and gold in the curl of her auburn hair. Her emerald eyes were playful; teasing.

He watched her for a moment – transfixed.

Then he ripped her off the piano… where he knew she could not stay.

He flipped open the bench instead. He folded the stand of the frame with exceedingly gentle fingers, and laid her flat among the yellowed bits of music someone had left within the seat.

And he closed the lid on the casket of the past… sealing it carefully away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'I may be rather late,' Albus warned as he fastened his travelling cloak.

'That's fine,' Harry assured him, bent so close to the Wizarding Wireless that was broadcasting the Welsh match against Uganda that Albus was vaguely worried he would injure his hearing.

'Do not stay up too much longer,' he said. 'And do remember that Minerva will be out until tomorrow evening. If there are any problems, you must go to –'

'Snape, yeah,' Harry finished for him, groaning as the commentator announced a Ugandan goal.

' _Professor_ Snape,' Albus corrected. 'He should check in from time to time, but you may certainly reach him by Floo if you need to.'

'Right,' Harry agreed distractedly. 'Yeah, I'll do that. Good luck with your meetings.'

Albus smiled. He walked over to brush his hand lightly across Harry's head – already mussed from the strain of the broadcast – and took his leave.

The night was clear and warm as Albus made his way toward the Hog's Head at a leisurely pace for the second time that week. He didn't bother with the front entrance tonight, where he could hear the din of a raucous crowd making merry in the pub. Instead, he let himself in the back way and up to Aberforth's quarters, where Bill Weasley was already seated by the fireside, twirling a glass of whisky and looking just as tense as Harry had been as he glowered at Aberforth's wireless. He did not seem to hear the door open and close.

Albus watched him for a moment in amusement before he spoke.

'I shall never understand how Quidditch can bring even the most observant of men into oblivion,' he mused aloud.

Bill jumped slightly, whirling to face him. 'Apologies headmaster,' he said with a wry grin, pointing his wand at the wireless to dim the commentator's shouts.

Albus chuckled. 'Not at all, my dear boy,' he said easily. 'I must confess – you are the second young man I have encountered in such a position tonight.'

Bill grinned. 'How is Harry?'

'Quite well,' Albus assured him. 'He is looking forward to the final match, I dare say. You will be attending with your family?'

'Oh yes, everyone is quite excited,' Bill agreed. His smile faltered just a bit. 'Actually… it is one of the things I meant to discuss with you.'

'Oh?' Albus asked.

Bill fixed him with a sombre stare. His blue eyes, Albus noticed, had lost even more of their boyish innocence.

Albus felt a pang of bitter remorse. His fault… his wars. He had knowingly removed this young wizard from his comfortable world – thrust him into the heart of the matter. He had placed him where he knew his morals would be tested; his resolve stretched to its breaking point. He had set him a course where forever more Bill Weasley would question the inherent goodness of men; would feel a cynicism awaken in him that he could never douse. He would never know the simplicities of the world again. Bill Weasley would never be the same, when this war had ended. Albus had known that, when he had first summoned this young man to the castle and imparted this mission to him.

Albus had done it for Harry. He had done it for the world.

But Gellert's words echoed in his mind again…

 _'It is difficult, isn't it my friend? Making such a choice. It eats away at you… callouses your precious soul – the sacrifices you have to make, for the Greater Good.'_

'Headmaster?' Bill asked tentatively.

Albus shook himself. 'Forgive me,' he apologised. 'I must be wearier than I had thought.'

He conjured himself a glass, and poured himself a drink. He refilled Bill's tumbler as well.

'No problem,' Bill excused. 'I was going to say… he's been asking after Harry, again. He deduced I would meet him at the World Cup.'

'Indeed,' Albus acknowledged. He sipped at his whisky.

'That is not all,' Bill went on. 'He seems certain, headmaster, that he will make the acquaintance himself. He is… curious, about Harry. Unnaturally so.'

'It is not unexpected,' Albus said carefully. 'But I would not worry about it too much, Bill. I can handle Gellert on that score.'

Bill frowned at him. 'You're not – you are not _intending_ to introduce him to Harry?' he asked, sounding nervous.

'I have made no plans to do so, no,' Albus answered slowly. 'Not at this time, at least. But Gellert… it is difficult to know what may come in future, when dealing with such a man.'

'He knows an awful lot,' Bill agreed bitterly. 'Too much, headmaster.'

Albus sighed. 'Such has always been his way,' he said. 'But Gellert is a brilliant mind entrapped with his own thoughts,' he reminded him. 'He has little else to do but ponder the conditions of the outside world – and a greater intellect to do so than most free to live in it.'

'It's like it's a game to him,' Bill said anxiously.

'Oh, it is,' Albus agreed. 'Of course it is. Grindelwald his spent his entire life engaged in the game of human interaction and manipulation. He prides himself on his ability to read others – predict their next move; direct it, if he can. It is a personal amusement for him.'

Bill stared, looking ill.

'It matters not,' Albus assured him. 'At least, it is not of great importance at the moment. As long as he is engaged in the intellectual puzzle of it all, he is still a useful resource for us. So long as we do not forget that he will have an agenda of his own, and remain vigilant to its existence… we shall not fall into the trap, Mr Weasley. Enemies are not dangerous because they exist in the world. They become so only when we allow them the chance to influence our lives and endanger that which we hold dear.'

Bill was still watching him warily. 'He wants to know whether you succeeded with the locket,' he said, abruptly changing tack.

'I have made inroads, yes,' Albus agreed. 'I was able to determine into whose possession the locket arrived – it was pawned, as you suggested. I am almost certain Tom Riddle then stole it back from its new owner, but I am awaiting further information at the moment.'

'How did you trace the pawnbroker?' Bill asked.

'I followed up with Borgin and Burke's,' Albus told him with a small smile. 'I was successful on the first attempt, I am happy to report. Mr Burke revealed it had been purchased by a Hepzibah Smith, who died many years ago under somewhat mysterious circumstances. It is the evidence surrounding her death that I am currently waiting on.'

'Mr Burke – he told you all this?' Bill asked hesitantly. 'Just like that?'

Albus studied him closely. He did not attempt Legilimency, but he did read the tension in the young wizard's shoulders and the reluctance to meet his eyes.

'Why, Mr Weasley?' he asked quietly. 'Is there something else you wished to ask me?'

Bill swallowed, looking uncomfortable. 'It's just… they're not known for their – er – friendliness, at that shop,' he said. 'I wondered whether he was really willing to share everything. Or whether you might have had to… persuade him, somehow.'

Albus continued to watch him. Bill was twirling his tumbler nervously. 'I can be persuasive without resorting to magical means, I assure you,' he said gently. 'I did, however, modify the proprietor's memory when I had finished questioning him.'

Bill looked up, his eyes suspicious. 'He said you'd do something,' he told Albus. 'I suppose that's better than torturing it out of him, but still…'

'There was no alternative,' Albus said.

'To keep the secret,' Bill agreed. 'I understand that. I just –'

'No, not to keep the secret,' Albus disagreed. His tone was slightly firmer – he wanted Bill to understand this crucial difference.

'The secrecy of what we are doing is of the _utmost_ importance,' he emphasised. 'As you know. But it is not why I took the memories from Caractacus Burke. At least, not entirely. Should Voldemort ever become aware of what we are researching – should he ever trace the path we have followed… should he even decide in future that he himself has not _hidden_ his path as well as he should have done; those memories would spell death for Mr Burke and several others. I took them by consent, and I took them to protect us all.'

Bill nodded curtly, though he still looked less than satisfied. Albus sighed.

'I owe you further apology,' he lamented. 'I know this is an exceedingly difficult task for you, Bill. It is not one that I would entrust to any less skilled, and I realise that to ask it of you has proven to be a great burden.'

'It's… it's fine, sir,' Bill insisted. 'I'm fine.'

'Young men continue to say that to me, of late,' Albus said with a sad smile. 'None of them truthful… but all, I think, showing great bravery in the face of growing adversary. Had I worn a hat tonight, I would tip it to you.'

Bill gave a wan smile.

'Keep your chin up, as well as your guard,' Albus encouraged. 'And do try not to take his omniscience at its face. He will enjoy the chance to spar with you – Gellert has always loved a match of wits. Competition keeps the mind sharp.'

'Yes,' Bill agreed, frowning again. 'He said something similar, recently…'

Albus felt a stir of unease twist his stomach, but he fended it off. 'You are his only companion, of late,' he reminded Bill. 'And, luckily for all of us, you are intelligent enough to prove a worthy match.'

'Not really,' Bill said with a roll of his eyes and another smile that was more like a grimace. 'Sometimes, I think he gets more from that eagle than from –'

But he broke off as Albus let the tumbler fall. It hit the edge of the table, and shattered.

'Headmaster?' Bill said, looking slightly alarmed.

Albus brought himself back from ten thousand miles with a monumental effort. His mind racing and a heady fury building in his chest, he forced himself to mutter a swift apology. He repaired the tumbler with a wave of his hand, cleaned the droplets of whisky from Aberforth's already stained carpet, and floated the empty glass back onto the surface of the table.

In his mind, meanwhile, his meeting in the room down the corridor replayed in an unending loop.

 _Mundungus had been waiting for him – on time, for perhaps the first occasion in his life. Albus rather thought the sneak thief feared his brother's wrath more than Albus' own._

 _He was standing when Albus entered the room, shuffling nervously near the window on the far side of the space. These rooms, generally for let, had far less of the comfortable lived-in quality that Aberforth's own chambers afforded, but they were furnished with a comfortable set of chairs and sofa around a modest hearth. Albus gestured toward the seats after greeting him, and Mundungus took one of the high-backed chairs with murmured thanks. He pulled out a long pipe, his wand shaking slightly as he went to light it._

 _'I would prefer you did not,' Albus told him politely. 'I find it much more difficult to hold a conversation, when one of the participants is shrouded in smoke.'_

 _'Oh… o' course, course, sir,' the wizard agreed at once._

 _He stuffed the pipe quickly back into his overlong cloak. Albus watched it disappear into a hidden gap between two patches. Something in an adjacent pocket gave an indignant squeal, and Mundungus patted the lump sharply._

 _'Thank you for meeting me tonight,' he said when the man had looked up again. 'I am sorry for the late notice.'_

 _'Not a bother,' Mundungus assured him. 'Not a problem at all, headmaster, sir. Happy to come – anytime.'_

 _Albus inclined his head in gratitude. 'Well, it is already late, so I shall not beat about the bush,' he said. 'You must have noticed, Mundungus, that things have not been as quiet this past year as they were in the preceding decade. I dare say you have heard the rumours in town.'_

 _'Among the townsfolk, there's not a hint of bother,' Mundungus disagreed. 'Well… except o' course when ole Sirius gave 'em the slip July last. But in, er… other circles…'_

 _He trailed off, and Albus nodded. 'They are worried,' he guessed._

 _Mundugus' small eyes widened, and he nodded seriously. 'Been a lot of muttering,' he agreed. 'People darting about after dark, and meetin' up in the pubs and whatnot. Some o' them rubbin' at their arms, like he's callin' to 'em… 'cept they don't up and disappear, like they used to. Some seem excited… but most of 'em just look dead scared.'_

 _'Yes,' Albus said, nodding. 'I expected as much.'_

 _Mundungus shifted awkwardly in the seat. 'Don' suppose I could trouble for some ale?' he asked. 'I'm right parched, I am.'_

 _Albus gave an amused smile. 'Of course,' he agreed._

 _He ordered through the Floo, and a few moments later a colossal tankard of cheap ale popped up on the table beside Mundungus. He took a great swallow immediately._

 _'Don't want any, headmaster?' he asked, wiping his mouth with a dirty sleeve as he looked up from the tankard._

 _Albus shook his head. 'I have never developed the taste for ale,' he admitted. 'And I have some other business to see to tonight, in any case.'_

 _Mundungus nodded. He relieved the beer mat of its burden, and sat back in his chair with the tankard of ale clutched in both hands. 'So, what can I do you for then, Albus?'_

 _'Nothing unduly burdensome, I assure you,' Albus said. 'At least, not just yet. For now, I merely wish you to keep your eyes and ears open, and report to me on a regular basis. I wish to know what it is they whisper of in the streets; who meets with who… what they discuss. And any other titbits you might stumble upon.'_

 _Mundungus nodded around another large, foamy swallow. 'Sounds easy enough,' he agreed. 'And you'll be wanting owls?'_

 _'Only if there is something truly pressing,' Albus corrected. 'Although even then, I would prefer the Floo. Otherwise, I shall prevail on Aberforth's good graces to allow us the use of this parlour on alternate Wednesday evenings, and hear your reports at that time. Does that seem agreeable?'_

 _Mundungus gave his assent without question._

 _'Very well,' Albus said, standing. 'Then I shall take my leave. I should also tell you that you are expected to depart before one o'clock… and though I do not wish to seem rude, I would warn you that to test that allowance would not be strictly wise.'_

 _'O, I don' need the warning,' the wizard said darkly. He gave a small shiver. 'I'll be outta here by then, I promise you that.'_

 _Albus inclined his head. 'Then I thank you, Mundungus,' he said. 'And bid you a good evening.'_

 _He turned to go._

 _'What about that eagle, eh?'_

 _Albus paused. He turned back, raising an eyebrow. 'I beg your pardon?' he inquired politely._

 _Mundungus slogged the last of the revolting ale and gave a muffled belch._

 _'That eagle,' he repeated. 'What's been bringing your messages. I gotta be honest, Dumbledore. I prefer that one to ole Snape. She's not been threatening to curse me every time she turns –'_

 _'What eagle?' Albus interrupted sharply._

 _Mundungus' eyes, though slightly glazed in a manner that suggested this drink was not his first, looked sceptically at him. 'The one what you've been sending out every couple o' months,' he said, as though Albus were being particularly thick. 'I've not told anyone else, mind, like you said. But I just reckon –'_

 _Albus felt a mixture of cold fury and concern well in his chest. 'I have never sent a missive by eagle in my life, Mundungus,' he said quietly. 'And certainly never to you.'_

 _Now, the grubby little man looked flummoxed. 'But… nah, Albus,' he chastised, as though the headmaster were having him on. 'I know I'm not what you'd call the sharpest… but I know your hand right enough. That's been you – what on Sirius Black, and the Potter boy and what –'_

 _'You have been sending messages about Harry?' Albus clarified. The air in the little room began to chill._

 _Mundungus' face paled. 'I… nothing much,' he pleaded, sounding frightened. 'Just the few things I hear round town, and what not. And I made a couple o' trips to check on that Muggle house like you –'_

 _Mundungus' empty tankard vibrated on the wood of the sitting room table… and Albus was not certain whether the man's nervously bouncing knee had set it trembling, or if it was a reaction to his own palpable anger._

 _'Listen to me very closely, Mundungus,' Albus said, his voice uncharacteristically steely. 'I do not know who is imitating my hand, but those missives are not from me. If the eagle turns up again, trap her at once. And in the meantime – you will accept no orders from me except those that come from my own lips or by Fawkes' missive, do you understand?'_

 _'I… yes, of course, sir,' Mundungus agreed, looking terrified. 'I didn't mean no –'_

 _'And if I ever get word that you have betrayed me,' Albus continued, his magic oppressive in the small space as his anger reached new heights, 'Or if I_ ever _hear you have reported on, investigated or spied on Harry Potter again… you shall regret it to your last day.'_

 _'I – I won't, sir,' Mundungus promised. 'Not ever.'_

'Gellert has an eagle?' Albus asked in a deadly voice.

Bill swallowed nervously. 'Yes,' he confirmed. 'A golden eagle. I only saw her the once, but she's some sort of pet, I think. He's fond of her.'

'That is very interesting,' Albus said quietly.

Bill watched him, but Albus did not comment further. It seemed this night would be longer than he anticipated.

'You may turn it back up if you wish,' Albus invited, pouring them another round and forcing his voice and his manner into ease once more. 'I shall need another drink before I pay my next call – but I should hate to keep you from the critical moment.'

Bill gave him a half-guilty glance. 'You're sure you won't mind?' he asked politely.

'Not at all,' Albus assured him.

As it turned out, they did not have long to wait. Bill had barely tapped the dial with his wand before the commentator was shouting on the pair of Seekers – apparently engaged in a dazzling chase across the pitch.

'And… Ugandan Seeker Dembe Kabumba has caught the Golden Snitch!' the commentator shouted, his magically magnified voice barely discernible over the deafening groans of the Welsh spectators and equally delighted roars of the Ugandan supporters. 'Uganda wins – 310 to 170. What a match folks – what a match!'

Bill groaned heavily. 'That's a blow,' he lamented. 'England was flattened on Sunday… 390 to 10 against Transylvania.' He gave Albus a dark look. 'Germany advanced through against Morocco last night. Can you imagine if Scotland doesn't pull it off tomorrow and all the UK teams are sat home while Germany plays in the quarters? They'll be no living with him…'

Albus gave a short chuckle, though he found it hard to summon humour beyond his deep unease.

'No,' he agreed. 'I imagine not.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _He led her out of the park, taking the route along the river to avoid the straggling villagers and any of the local teenagers who might not be so lethargic as to prevent their making trouble in the streets. Lily took off her shoes as they strolled through the softer grass on the edges of the water – which the proximity to the winding river had kept lush and thriving where so much else in Cokeworth had shrivelled in the sun._

 _'You shouldn't,' he said, frowning at her bare feet. 'The bees nest in the embankments down here.'_

 _She gave a trilling laugh that sent a thrill down his spine. 'Oh, Sev,' she chastised. 'You worry too much. I'm not going to trod on a bee's nest.'_

 _'You don't know that,' he told her mulishly. 'I watched that fat Miller boy trod on one two days ago – he wailed and writhed until his mates ran off for his mother.'_

 _Lily shrugged. 'I won't,' she repeated confidently. She swung the sandals lightly from her fingers, ignoring his continued frown._

 _'Have you heard from anyone since school?' she asked after a few moments._

 _Severus gave a noncommittal grunt. 'Few,' he said, not entirely truthfully._

 _'Mary wrote me last week,' Lily told him. 'The owl stayed so I could reply. I do want one of my own… but I've already got Darby, so they won't let me bring an owl as well.'_

 _'Lots of people break that rule,' Severus said. 'Nobody notices how many pets students have got once we're all there. Have it fly to Hogwarts and meet you, and you won't be caught on the train. After that – the owls roost up in the owlery, don't they? Shouldn't be a problem.'_

 _Lily sighed. 'Well, that could work,' she said, 'But Tuney's already told mum and dad that the owls make her sneeze.'_

 _Severus growled. 'They can't believe that,' he scoffed indignantly. 'Your father's a doctor. He'd know if she had a real allergy.'_

 _'I know,' Lily said. 'But I didn't want to push it. She's just so…'_

 _She sighed again in an irritated sort of way._

 _'Don't let her fire your cauldron,' Severus advised. 'She's only a Mug–'_

 _'Don't say it, Sev,' Lily cut across him. 'You know I hate when you do that. She can't help that she's not magical.'_

 _'Maybe,' Severus allowed, unable to entirely hide his scorn. 'But she can help that she's a right little –'_

 _'Sev!'_

 _He broke off again, grinding his teeth._

 _'Where are you taking me anyway?' she asked curiously, as Severus led them past their favourite willow overhang and turned away from the river, headed up a hill._

 _'It's a surprise,' he told her._

 _Lily rolled her eyes, skipping a bit to catch up with his slightly longer stride. 'You hate surprises,' she pointed out._

 _'Only when I'm the one being surprised,' Severus corrected her._

 _They had reached the back lane he had been aiming for. Severus slowed his walk as they approached a chain fence that surrounded a rather derelict schoolyard. He turned to direct them toward the ivy-covered building, running his fingers along the links of the chain as they went._

 _'I did primary school here,' Lily said, copying the trail of his hand as she walked behind him. 'Me and Petunia both.'_

 _'Yes, I remember,' Severus agreed._

 _'You didn't,' she recalled. 'Else I would have known you sooner.'_

 _He shrugged. 'All my mother's family have been taught at home,' he reminded her. They had had this conversation before. 'It isn't that abnormal in the Wizarding World.'_

 _'I know that,' Lily said. 'But it_ is _unusual in this town. Weren't you lonely?'_

 _'No,' Severus said shortly – and again, untruthfully. 'It would have just made things more difficult, mixing with Muggle children.'_

 _She heaved another sigh of irritation. 'Sometimes, I really don't understand you.'_

 _Severus did not say anything as he turned the last corner toward the school. He didn't like her thinking that._

 _'Sometimes,' he told her at last, 'You're the only one who does.'_

 _They had reached the back of the building now. Severus peeked in through a gap in yellowed curtains at a low classroom window._

 _'What are you –'_

 _'Ssh!'_

 _He motioned at her to keep quiet and waved his hand, indicating that she should crouch beside him just beneath the sill of the window. She followed the instruction, giggling a bit._

 _'What are we doing?' she whispered._

 _'Quiet,' Severus implored, checking his wristwatch again. 'Just wait. It should be any moment…'_

 _Not two minutes later, a portly man in a grey uniform with a cigarette hanging from his mouth appeared around a corner in the corridor across the room, just visible through the panes of the classroom door. He had a push broom going in one hand, but the ash from his smoke was trickling along the tile of the floor much faster than he was sweeping any dust away._

 _'We're spying on the caretaker?' Lily asked in a hushed voice, her eyebrows raised._

 _Severus raised one of his own. 'No,' he said simply._

 _He turned back to the window, and Lily did too. As the man reached the other side of the classroom door – the last in the line along the wall – he stopped, set the edge of his broom against the wall, and put out his cigarette on the edge of the doorframe. He tossed the crumpled butt at a bin and turned, heading out of sight down an adjacent corridor._

 _Severus straightened and pushed himself flat against the exterior wall. He craned his neck to peer around the corner, where a side entrance to the school was situated._

 _'Sev…' Lily began impatiently again. But he flapped his hand once more to quiet her, still watching the door expectantly._

 _The caretaker trundled through, whistling a cheery tune while he dug an old-fashioned ring of keys out of the front pocket of his trousers. He fumbled with it for a moment, then stuck one of the larger keys into a lock at the entrance and turned it. He tested the knob once with a hard jerk of his wrist, nodded to himself, and set off down the lane._

 _'Come on,' Severus whispered to Lily, once the caretaker's whistling had faded into the summer's haze._

 _He grabbed for her hand and pulled her round the corner toward the entrance the man had just sealed. She gave a squeal of protest._

 _'What – inside?' she asked. 'I… I don't think that's…'_

 _'What are you, scared?' he challenged, cocking an eyebrow._

 _Lily's eyes flashed in the way that made his smirk widen. 'I'm not scared,' she insisted scornfully. 'What's there to be frightened of – in an empty Muggle school? I just don't think it's right, Sev. What if we're caught? What if we leave a mess?'_

 _'I do not make messes,' Severus said confidently. 'And we won't be caught, Lils. The caretaker went down to the pubs – he won't come back until half two. I've been watching him…'_

 _'That's a bit creepy,' Lily accused._

 _Severus snorted. 'I wanted to make sure it was safe,' he retorted. 'He leaves every day about now, after he finishes up the ground floor, and he never comes back until mid-afternoon to do the first.'_

 _'But he just locked up,' Lily pointed out. 'How are we supposed to get inside, unless we break a window or something?'_

 _Severus grinned. 'Just watch,' he told her._

 _He strode off for the door, confident that Lily would follow. She did – though Severus could still hear her grumbling. He ran his fingers over the brass lock and tested the handle once just for good measure._

 _'So – how are you going to do it?' Lily demanded._

 _He smirked at her. 'Magic,' he said simply._

 _Lily took a sharp breath. 'You can't!' she hissed. 'I told you about the letter I got first week back…'_

 _'But you cast that spell in your house,' Severus pointed out. 'You've got the Trace on you, and you're the only witch in that house. Of course the Ministry knew it was you.'_

 _'But… you've got a Trace too,' Lily said. 'So if you do magic –'_

 _'My mum's a witch,' Severus said. 'Even if we're not at my house… all the Ministry will know is that someone's done magic in Cokeworth, near an underage witch or wizard. They'll assume it was her. They'll never be able to prove it was me… and they won't send someone to check for a stupid thing like this.'_

 _'But I thought…' Lily was still frowning at him. 'Didn't you say that your mum had taken your wand, when you got back? So that your dad wouldn't…'_

 _'Yes,' said Severus, with a bit of a snarl at the memory. 'But it doesn't matter. Look.'_

 _He put his palm on the handle of the door. 'Alohomora.'_

 _The lock inside clicked free. Lily gasped._

 _'How'd you do that?' she breathed. 'An actual spell… on purpose – without your wand?'_

 _Severus panted a little at the effort it had taken, but cocked a smile all the same._

 _'Learned that one when I was eight,' he told her. 'Had to have a way out of my bedroom, didn't I? Come on.'_

 _He pulled her by the hand into the school. They took off down the same corridor they'd been watching, giggling as they went. Lily's feet, still bare, pattered off the tiled floor._

 _'In here,' he directed, as they reached the last door on the left. He yanked her in and shut it, flicking the switch alongside the pane. Fluorescent lights blinked slowly on and bathed the room in an unnaturally blue-white glare._

 _'We had music lessons in here,' Lily remembered, looking around at the high shelves of black cased instruments and the upturned chairs on the tables. 'Old Mrs O'Connor. She was half tone-deaf, but we didn't mind. Only time we were allowed to make as much noise as we wanted.'_

 _Severus chuckled. 'Look here,' he said, leading her to the front of the room._

 _He pulled at a tartan cloth that draped something massive on a platform at the centre. A very old, very beautiful grand piano came into view. Lily gave a little sigh._

 _'It's lovely, isn't it?' she said, trailing a light hand along the polished ivory keys._

 _'Mhm,' Severus agreed. 'Nicest thing in this town.'_

 _'It was a gift to the school,' Lily told him. 'Years ago, when the school was first built, I think. The gentleman who owned the mill originally gave some money to start the music programme, and the piano.'_

 _Severus pulled out the bench. He patted it. 'Sit,' he invited, settling himself into the middle. Lily perched on the edge of the slightly faded purple cushion, watching him find his fingering._

 _'How did you learn?' she asked, as Severus began plunking out a song._

 _He shrugged. 'My grandmother. I used to see quite a lot of her, when I was small. And I'd spend a month there on my own in the summertime. It was mostly before I met you.'_

 _'Is she…' Lily began tentatively._

 _Severus laughed without mirth. 'No, she's not dead,' he said, guessing her thoughts. 'But she hates my father. She and my mother finally fell out over it when I was about ten, and I haven't seen her since. She has one like this though.' He nodded at the piano. 'Gorgeous old thing. I think my grandfather gave it to her when they got married.'_

 _'Well, she taught you well,' Lily offered._

 _Severus shrugged again. 'It's not that difficult,' he told her modestly. 'Once you've got the basics, at least.'_

 _'It looks difficult to me,' she disagreed._

 _Severus finished the waltz, letting the last note hang just a moment. Then he shifted his hands and started in on something else. It was a softer, gentler song even than the waltz. His feet manipulated the pedals beneath as his fingers ghosted over the keys above, joining the notes in a haunting, seamless stream._

 _He played in G minor. Some people, he thought, would have found the choice of key eerie, perhaps even creepy. He, however, found it beautiful._

 _Lily was silent beside him for the first few measures, her eyes watching his hands. It was not until the refrain that she spoke._

 _'What is it?' she asked in a whisper, careful not to interrupt the music._

 _'Just something I've been playing about with,' Severus replied, reaching across her to play higher on the keys._

 _'I've never heard it before,' Lily said quietly._

 _Severus looked sideways at her, but all he could see of Lily's gaze was the soft curl of her long lashes and the almost translucent skin of her eyelids. She was still watching his fingers on the keys._

 _'It's beautiful,' she sighed. 'Who taught it to you? What's it called?'_

 _Severus shrugged. 'Nobody taught me this one,' he said, moving into the chorus. 'And it's not good enough for a name. It's just something I made up.'_

 _She lifted her gaze. To his astonishment, her eyes were close to tears. 'You made this up?' she clarified in a breathy voice. 'All on your own?'_

 _He smirked slightly. 'I told you, it's not that hard,' he said._

 _In truth, he had needled Professor Smithworthy into allowing him use of the upright in his quarters every Thursday for seven months, bartering with promised assistance minding his cat when he went off to visit his family on week-ends. But he didn't think Lily needed to know that bit._

 _'You like it?' he asked her nervously._

 _Lily's eyes were still swimming. 'I love it,' she told him. 'It's gorgeous, Sev. And it deserves a name.'_

 _'You decide,' he said simply. 'If you like it… it's yours.'_

 _Lily furrowed her brow in confusion. 'You composed it,' she pointed out, slowly. 'You can't give me a song, Sev…'_

 _'Course I can,' he said. 'It's mine to do what I like with. I'm giving it to you.'_

 _'But…'_

 _'No buts,' Severus said, grinning crookedly. 'Just promise me you won't give it a stupid name.'_

 _To his slight surprise, she hurled herself across the bench, hugging him tightly around the middle. The force of the gesture caused his hands to slip on the keys, jarring the room with a crashing out-of-tune chord. Her forearms pressed painfully into tender ribs._

 _But Severus did not care. He let his cheek rest on the top of her dark red hair, and patted her awkwardly on the back with one hand._

 _'Thank you,' she said softly into his chest. 'I promise… I'll keep it forever.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry woke in a sheen of cold sweat, clapping a hand automatically to his forehead. His scar was searing.

He felt it gingerly. The lightning bolt was raised and angry, almost hot to the touch. He pulled his fingers away, but there was no blood.

He did not understand. He hadn't dreamt, he did not think… and yet, his scar still throbbed.

A glance at the window told him he could not have slept through the night. He pushed himself up against the headboard, waiting for his heart to stop its stampede. He felt faintly nauseated, though not as if he were about to be sick. He pulled his wand off the bedside table.

' _Lumos,_ ' he whispered.

By the light of the wand's tip, Harry checked his wristwatch. It was not yet two.

He slid out of the sweaty bedclothes, pulling his dressing gown off the armchair to tie against the chill. He padded out the door and down the corridor to the headmaster's chamber. The door was ajar, but the great gilded bed inside was empty and neat. It seemed Albus had not yet returned from his meetings. Harry stared at the empty chamber in disappointment. In as long as he had known Dumbledore now, it was not unusual for the headmaster to keep very late hours… but he still found his absence tonight disappointing.

Harry made his way down the spiral staircase, in the vain hope that perhaps Albus had lingered in the parlour upon his return. But the circular office was as dark and empty as the bedchamber had been, the whirring silver instruments and several snoring portraits the only disturbers of the night. He looked to Fawkes' usual perch. The bird too, it seemed, had left the castle tonight.

Harry sank into the headmaster's usual armchair by the hearth, rubbing vaguely at the receding pain in his forehead. He knew what he was _supposed_ to do next… but doing it was not inviting.

Snape would not be happy to be disturbed at this hour. Perhaps he ought to wait for Albus' return. After all, it was very late. He could not be out _that_ much longer.

But…

What if someone else had been captured? What if someone else was dying… like Bertha Jorkins… and Harry – though he had been spared its visual, this time – was sat here with the power to do something about it?

The thought increased his nausea again. For a moment, Harry wondered whether he might be sick after all. He thrust his head between his knees, breathing to stave off the sensation. The nausea subsided, but the trepidation did not.

He sighed. There was nothing for it. Harry stood on tiptoe to reach the tin of Floo powder from the high mantle. But just as his fingers grappled the edge, he pulled them back.

He did not feel much like spinning through flames, just now. He would probably sick up all over Snape's carpet if he tried, and then the Potions Master was _sure_ to be angry.

No… perhaps he would walk instead. Perhaps, then, he might even meet Albus in the process, and avoid the whole interaction.

Yes… that seemed the better alternative.

He headed out the polished oak door instead, and down the spiralling staircase into the darkness. He kept his wand lit on the long walk through the castle, though the torches along the corridors and grand staircase were lit. The familiar feel of the holly helped calm his still frantic heart; the thrum of his own magic soothing, as though the feather inside still held traces of its phoenix' balm. Between the third and fourth floors he passed Mrs Norris, and wondered for a moment if he would have to face Filch as well. But the cat merely gave him a disgruntled stare as he sidestepped out of her path.

The entrance hall was silent. He teetered for a moment, staring at the high doors that barred entrance to the castle. They seemed to shimmer at the edges. Harry wondered if Albus had set a ward to protect the school in his absence… and then whether his senses might be somewhat heightened by adrenaline, tonight.

He stood a full two minutes, but the doors did not open to reveal their master. Harry sighed, and turned away for the subterranean stairs instead.

The stone of the dungeon floor was freezing on his bare feet. Harry felt his toes numbing as he walked farther through the shadows, and mentally chastised himself for failing to consider shoes – or even socks – before he set out. His wand tip was still brightly illuminated, but the sconces on the walls down here were as cold and barren as the floor – and the darkness seemed to compress around him as he crept toward the Potions Master's lair.

He paused at the usual classroom door, a new realisation kicking in.

It was well past two in the morning. There was almost no chance that Snape would be in his classroom at this hour. Without much hope, he knocked. Then he pressed an ear to the wood. There was no sound beyond. He tried the door to find it locked. He didn't bother to attempt his unlocking spells. On the very unlikely chance that he managed to get through whatever wards Snape used to barricade his classroom, he was almost certain he would find it as abandoned as it appeared.

He tried the next door instead, which he knew led to Snape's office. The results were similarly disappointing. Now, Harry was well and truly stymied. Perhaps he _should_ have used the Floo after all.

Harry had never been to Snape's personal quarters before. He did not even know where they were. In vain, he wandered a bit farther down the dungeon passage, but he found nothing but two disused classrooms and one heavily barred door he was fairly certain must lead to the docks under the castle from whence he'd entered Hogwarts for the first time, judging by the draft that flowed beneath the iron. He stopped in the passage, thinking hard.

He did not know why he had thought Snape would live next to the room in which he taught. The only professor who did, as far as he knew, was Professor Trelawney – who so rarely left her secluded tower. Remus' living quarters had been at least a ten minute walk from his classroom. Albus' were not near any classrooms at all. Minerva's quarters were close to the Fat Lady, because –

 _Ah…_

Snape, like Minerva, was Head of House. That surely meant his personal quarters would be near to the Slytherin dormitories, in case of emergency and for oversight.

Pleased with his deductions, Harry set off instead for the opposite end of the labyrinthine dungeon passages – digging deep in his memory to recall the way he'd gone when he and Ron had been impersonating Crabbe and Goyle to interrogate Malfoy. It was harder in the pitch dark, and because they had wandered rather haphazardly on that occasion as well, before running into Malfoy himself. Harry made two turns into dead-ends and one that seemed to return him to the Potions classroom… but, eventually, he found the stone wall that he remembered – two ever-burning torches marking the hidden entrance.

The additional light helped in Harry's search – and he aided their beam with his own as he scanned the adjacent passages for a likely door. Three corridors seemed equally plausible. Harry decided to try the rightmost first, but he had barely taken three steps along it when something from the leftmost caught his ear.

It was an odd sound. Not coughing, as Harry had noted outside Snape's classroom a few days before. No… this was not Snape at all.

This was music.

It was soft, slow music – almost a lullaby. Like Fawkes' song, something in the melody seemed to stir deep inside Harry's chest, singing a call to his very soul. Yet this music was nothing like the phoenix sound. It was lower, gentler… the notes bleeding one into another in an unending stream. It was clearly made not by vocals but some sort of instrument; and yet the recesses of Harry's mind knew where every breath would go – where every pause would come, if the melody were hummed or sung instead.

He followed the song without consciously deciding to, his wand held out before him. Mesmerised, like a snake before its charmer.

It led him to a polished door of a deep, almost black wood. A sliver of light blazed from the crack at the foot: dancing and flickering in the way the candlelight of Hogwarts always did. Harry's numbed toes tingled a bit at the touch of warmth.

The song was stronger here – coming from the room beyond.

Harry stopped his hand just before he tried the handle, his senses returning in a barrage of warning bells that drowned the spell of the music.

What was he _thinking_ – going to open the door? Without _knocking_? If it was Snape's…

He would be cursed before he could blink.

He pulled the hand away, studying the door instead. This _must_ surely be Snape's quarters, after all…

But then, what was the –

But the music had stopped.

The warmth vanished from his toes as shadow took the light quite as abruptly as the sound of the music had halted. Harry realised, a moment too late, that someone was at the other side of the entrance. In the next second the door had been flung ajar, and Harry had to jump backward before Snape barrelled into him.

' _Potter_!'

The call was a hiss, but Snape's eyes blazed in fury as he stared at Harry.

Harry took another step back, swallowing hard.

'I – er… I'm sorry, sir,' he mumbled quickly.

'What are you doing out of bed, wandering the corridors in the darkness?' Snape demanded. 'What are you doing _here_ , Potter?'

'I… er…' Harry stammered, forgetting in the confusion of the last few moments why it was he had come in the first place.

Snape's fingers tightened on the door frame.

'Speak, boy,' he demanded.

But Harry hardly heard him. Beneath Snape's tense arm – unnervingly clad in a greyish long-sleeved nightshirt rather than his usual black robes – Harry could see into the quarters beyond.

The space was fairly large – much roomier than Remus' had been, though not quite so large as Minerva's. The main room was immaculately clean, and furnished with a sofa and several chairs in a deep leather that might have been dark green – though it was hard to tell with the low-burning fire casting shadows about. Two high, rounded windows spelled to glow in an emerald green looked out not over the grounds, but into the abyss of the Hogwarts lake. Harry saw a brightly scaled fish wink past as he watched. There were high bookshelves lining most of the rear wall, with tomes stacked neatly from end to end. And, set just to their right and visible under the crook of Snape's elbow, sat a rather battered upright piano.

Harry gaped at it.

'Potter!' Snape said sharply again.

'Was… was that you, sir?' Harry asked in shock, looking up from the piano into Snape's still livid face.

Snape's brows contracted. 'What are you talking about?' he spat.

'The… that music,' Harry clarified. 'Was that you – playing it?'

Snape removed his grip from the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. His face seemed to tighten, but it did not lose any of its ire.

'What of it, Potter?' he demanded. 'If you came for a private concerto…'

'I didn't know you could play,' Harry said quietly. 'That song – what was –'

'Why are you _here_ , Potter?' Snape repeated. As it always did when Snape grew truly furious, the words came even softer than his usual silky tone.

'I… it's just – I know that song,' Harry said quietly, still caught up in the swell of notes inside his head. 'It's so familiar…'

Snape's face had gone the colour of old porridge. His arms were so tightly clasped across his chest that Harry felt sure they would never release again.

'Impossible,' he dismissed. 'You are imagining things.'

'No, I'm not,' Harry insisted.

'Potter –'

'My mother,' Harry realised in a whisper.

Snape face was frozen – a snarl still in place. His black eyes were fathomless as they bore into Harry's. He did not speak.

'It was my mum,' Harry said again. 'Her voice… I can almost hear it. She used to hum that melody at night, when I couldn't get to sleep…'

Snape continued to stare at him for a long moment.

'You are imagining things,' he repeated. 'You were scarcely more than a year old when your mother… You can't have that memory, Potter. It is impossible.'

'No, it's not,' Harry countered. 'I _know_ it was her. Aunt Petunia never sang. I can –'

'Impossible!' Snape repeated. And this time, his tone was raised.

'What's it called?' Harry asked curiously, ignoring the obvious danger signs.

A muscle seemed to be going at the corner of Snape's lip. After a moment, however, he answered. 'Fleur-de-lis,' he said curtly.

'Who wrote it?'

Snape's eyes flashed. 'Why are you so full of questions in the middle of the night, Potter? Did you have a _purpose_ in wandering the castle at such an hour, or were you merely exercising your usual penchant for trouble-making when you stumbled upon my chambers?'

Harry's cheeks reddened. 'It's not _that_ many questions,' he grumbled. 'I just wondered if there was a compos–'

'He died, many years ago,' Snape interrupted. 'The name escapes me. Now – _why_ are you barefoot at my personal quarters at two o'clock in the morning?'

'I had a nightmare,' Harry said angrily. 'But that's not the –'

Snape's entire demeanour seemed to change in an instant. His arms released their death grip across his chest, and his right hand grasped for a moment at the left sleeve of his night shirt. Before Harry could do more than stammer and stare, Snape had grabbed him roughly by the collar of his dressing gown and yanked him into the room.

'Gerroff!' Harry gasped out. He massaged the back of his neck and glared at Snape as the latter slammed the door and whirled to face him again. 'That was –'

'What did you dream, Potter?' the Potions Master demanded.

'I don't know, sir,' Harry said begrudgingly. 'I just –'

'What do you mean, you do not know?' Snape quoted. 'What do you _remember_ of the –'

'I don't remember any of it,' Harry volleyed back impatiently. 'I just woke up with my scar hurting, and Albus wasn't in the tower. Sorry to _disturb_ you, sir… but he did tell me you were supposed to have a lookout tonight.'

Snape's gaze bore into his again with an intensity that made Harry's hair stand on end. 'You remember nothing at all, Potter?' the professor asked quietly after a moment.

Harry shook his head. 'Nothing,' he repeated. 'I don't remember any sort of dream, let alone a nightmare. But my scar hasn't hurt before unless… well…'

'Unless you have dreamed,' Snape finished for him.

'Or when Vol –'

Snape snarled, and Harry backtracked – 'When _You-Know-Who_ ,' he amended, 'Is near me.'

'Indeed,' Snape agreed. His face was still inscrutable.

'So I just thought… what if he's taken someone else, like he did that witch at the start of the summer hols? What if there's something we could _do_ about it?'

Snape did not reply. He turned away from Harry and began to walk toward the leather sofa and chairs. He had reached the fireside before he spoke to Harry again.

'Are you going to stand on the doorstep like an idiot all night, Potter?' he asked drily.

Harry scowled, but shuffled after him. Snape watched his progress with a glower. 'Where are your shoes?' he barked, when Harry's feet had found the carpet.

Harry looked down. He had forgotten again. 'I… er… I didn't wear any,' he admitted.

Snape rolled his eyes. 'Foolish child,' he chastised. 'Must you _always_ prove yourself without sense?'

Harry bristled. 'It's two o'clock in the morning,' he pointed out angrily. 'And it's not like I knew I'd be running round the castle.'

Snape did not bother with a retort. He spun his wand through the air, and a pair of woollen socks plopped onto the sofa.

'Put them on, and sit,' the professor commanded.

Harry did, still grinding his teeth. Snape paced the floor in front, tapping his wand against his hip with his brow furrowed. A log shifted in the low-burning fire behind him, sending orange sparks to dissipate in the still-chilly air of the dungeon room. Harry waited for the professor to say something, but minutes trickled by in silence. He wondered how Snape could still manage that graceful, serpentine gait… even when devoid of black robes to billow out behind him.

'Where's Albus?' Harry asked. 'When will he get back?'

'I, unlike you, do not pepper the headmaster of Hogwarts with impertinent queries about his personal affairs, Potter,' Snape said. 'He shall return when he sees fit to do so, and when his business is attended to.'

Harry pulled his feet up under him on Snape's sofa. The leather was hard and slippery. It barely gave beneath his weight at all.

'What if he's found someone else?' Harry said, unable to help himself. 'What if he's _killed_ someone else – like Bertha Jorkins?'

Snape stopped in his pacing, turning sharp eyes on Harry. 'How do you know it was Bertha Jorkins?'

'That Ministry wizard,' Harry told him. 'The one helping with the tournament – Ludo Bagman. He was here, and he said she'd gone missing in Albania. I just sort of… figured it out, after that.'

'Albania is a country, Potter, not a village lane,' Snape said slowly. 'There is no way to –'

'I could just… tell.'

Snape raised an eyebrow again, and Harry shrugged defensively. He didn't like to think about it.

'I _could_ ,' he insisted. 'And besides, Albus thinks so too.'

Snape's face was inscrutable. Harry squirmed a bit under the force of his obsidian gaze. 'You believe the Dark Lord has captured another?' he asked, very softly.

Harry frowned, thinking on it. 'I… I don't know,' he admitted. 'I told you – I don't remember anything that –'

'That was not my question, Potter,' Snape interrupted. 'I asked what you _believe_ has occurred.'

'I…'

Harry hesitated. He thought back on the moments when he had first awoken… thought about the sensations he had felt. It was little use. All he could recall was the pain in his scar when he'd opened his eyes. Before that – nothing. No images. No voices. No high, cold laughter. And yet…

Somehow, an answer came to his lips anyway.

'I think… no,' he realised, his voice so soft he could barely hear himself. 'He wasn't murdering anyone. He was… happy; or satisfied, maybe. He is… here.'

' _What_?' Snape repeated in a hiss. His face visibly whitened. For the briefest of moments, he looked frightened.

'Not _here_ , here,' Harry clarified, still shocking himself with his own words. 'But… here. Where he meant to be; to come. He was glad to have reached… wherever it was he was.'

He shook his head slightly, looking up at Snape. 'Does… did that make any sense?' he asked tentatively.

Snape was staring at him again, looking caught between anger and fear. He did not answer the query. Instead, he pulled his wand from a pocket of the nightshirt, and took two slow steps toward Harry on the sofa.

'I think, Mr Potter,' he said in a low, dangerous voice, 'That it is time to test your Occlumency.'

Harry felt a thrill of dread. He tried to push back on the sofa, but the slick leather resisted his attempts to straighten. He scrabbled the arm with his fingers.

'I… what are you –'

But he made the mistake of looking at Snape as he gave his desperate plea. And Snape was already speaking.

' _Legilimens!_ '

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **A Brief Note on Severus' Composition:**

Normally, I leave a lot of the 'background' on some of the choices made in COH to the savvy reader's ingenuity or to review responses. But, as this was a musical choice and as a musician I cannot help myself, I wanted to take a moment here at the conclusion of the chapter to explain the reasoning behind setting Lily's song in the key of G minor (relative key B flat major).

The inspiration comes largely from Mozart's use of G minor to express sadness, tragedy and mourning – often preceded by a frantic and futile struggle. Symphony No. 25 – entirely in G minor – is perhaps the best known of these works, but his use of the tragic elements of G minor can also be seen in a number of other compositions, including Symphony No. 5 (B flat major, the relative key, is used for most in the traditional score; the _Andante_ provided the most inspiration for this particular composition). Mozart was not the only composer to use the key in such a manner. Verdi's _Requiem_ is also set mainly in G minor, as is the aria 'When I am laid in the earth' from Purcell's _Dido and Aeneas_. And, of course, Schubert's famous 'Ave Maria' was composed originally in B flat major. The 'Ave Maria' – while today used so often in its Latin derivation at Catholic worship that many assume Schubert wrote the piece for such use – was in fact originally composed as part of an epic poem entitled 'The Lady of the Lake' (or Loch Katrine, as it is often known in Scotland). I encourage everyone to listen to Maria Callas' version in the original German – it's gorgeous.

I _almost_ used C minor, which is often associated with the works of Beethoven and the heroic struggle. That might have been appropriate to Snape's character too… but I see him more as an 'anti-hero' in many ways, and not quite as bold and overtly powerful as the C minor key presents. G minor is just as tragic and powerful, but in a softer, more understated sense. And, after all, this was meant to reflect Lily too… and G minor seemed the more appropriate choice.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Fourteen**

 **ImortalGlee** : Thanks for your review! And for the heads up – I really appreciate it, and I have fixed the typo. Sometimes editing late night, I miss things like that. Glad you enjoyed the storylines this chapter. I hope you'll like the continuation!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Haha, I'm not that familiar with Christina Perri, but I looked up the song after seeing your message. Made me laugh to think of Snape! You're doing fine :). I always appreciate your reviews – and am very glad that you're still enjoying the story so much – thank you!

 **Me (Guest Review)** : Thank you for reviewing! I hope you are feeling better. James has been down all week (I am writing this response the day Chapter 14 went up) – which is part of the reason it took me a fortnight to get the chapter finished. I suppose it's just a nasty time of year for bugs, but I'm glad to have missed it thus far. Ah, yes – the block was psychosomatic. I think a few people had guessed – but I wanted Snape to unearth that particular bombshell. Grindelwald _should_ scare you… he's definitely scary. It gives me a fright sometimes just to write him. As to what Bill will or won't say about the eagle… we shall see. He doesn't really know at this point what Gellert uses the bird for, but certainly it has made him suspicious. The poisoner… no, his or her identity has not yet been revealed. We will learn in Part III, however. Neville's wand – no, it is still his father's at this point in the story. In canon, that change does not occur until the end of Order of the Phoenix (well, I suppose really the summer before sixth year). That may or may not hold true in this tale. Haha Ancient Runes – truly fascinating, in my opinion. But I think Harry finds them as confusing and dry as most of us probably found learning Ancient Greek in secondary school. There are very cool practical portions of Runes to come… but we have to start at the ground and build up, as Albus has indicated.

 **StormOwlRage** : Thanks for your review! Yes… Snape and Harry are coming on a bit, as far as mutual respect goes. It is certainly helpful to Harry's education overall. I'm glad you like the build-up of that relationship. :) I did think that we had to address that there is more to Potions than just reading the instructions and chopping up plants… so I'm glad you appreciated the moment, as well as Harry's little cheeky barb at the end of the wandless lesson – which Snape, begrudgingly, rather approves of.

Sirius and Remus almost didn't get that moment! I drafted it, but it didn't quite fit with the rest of the chapter so I nearly cut it out. in the end, however, I couldn't find a home for it elsewhere (since the full moon would have been too far past), and I really wanted to address that it was their first moon together since before Azkaban, James' death, Peter's betrayal _and_ the Wolfsbane Potion. So I hope it isn't too choppy that it's included here.

Mmm good question on Minerva's lessons. We got some in the previous book and I _think_ one in Part I (though I'm not positive)… but I haven't been avoiding it because Harry's rubbish at Transfiguration. I just have been focusing in on the magics he is learning that differ from his regular timetable. I will, I think, show something of Minerva's before the summer is out – because there are two important topics for which she will serve as primary instructor.

Anyway, very glad you've enjoyed the chapters, and I hope you like the continuation in Chapter Fifteen!

 **BlueWater5** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the parts from Severus' perspective in particular – he is always such a fun character to write. I hope you like the next instalment!

 **Wide Eyed and Curious** : Thank you for reviewing! Very happy to hear you liked the chapter. I thank you for your comments as well – I'm glad you enjoy the exchanges as much as I do. For me, the idea that the works on fanfiction are 'living' works, and that the author can engage in discussion directly with the readers as the story progresses, is one of the best elements of this type of writing and this platform. I am glad to take the time to respond to readers, because I truly appreciate the time you all take to read and follow the story – and I really, _really_ appreciate those readers who comment and review. It means a lot to me, and it truly is invaluable in the writing process – both because it brings up points which are key to think about and helps me realise what is working and what should be drawn out further, and because it's quite motivating to write when you know there's an audience for the product. I could talk Potter and Child of Hogwarts all day, and it's really wonderful that so many readers are interested. So I thank you – most sincerely!

I hope you like Chapter Fifteen!

 **Dsky** : Thanks for reviewing! It's really lovely to hear that you like the flow of the story – and I thank you for sharing that. I can't make any promises on the fates of our beloved characters, of course… but I do hope you'll enjoy their stories. And I hope you'll like Chapter Fifteen!

 **Babascoop** : Thanks for your review! On Cho – I'm very glad for the vote of confidence! :) I do hope the pairings will work organically… and I think you are right on the strategy to handle very excitable 'shippers'. I don't intend to follow a mated-forever type storyline with any of my adolescent characters and their various love interests, so hopefully there will be a little something for everyone to enjoy.

Ooh so you think Remus and Sirius' 'run' is a foreshadow, do you? Very interesting… I cannot, of course, confirm it – but certainly the scene was not included by accident. Runic Magic is SO fascinating! I'm very interested in this book you recommend – though I haven't yet read it, I think I will check it out! It sounds like a very interesting read, and (just based on the description you give, at least) it sounds as though Runic magic in that universe bears some overlap to what I intend for its purposes in COH. Harry gives Albus a bit of cheek at the end of the lesson there, haha. The moment was a call-out to Chapter 10 of Part II, when Snape lectures Harry on the properties of Death-cap toadstools and explains that a measure of poison is necessary in each antidote. That conversation, of course, was a not-so-thinly-veiled reference to understanding Lord Voldemort, for various reasons – though Harry did not truly realise it at the time. He _is_ taking certain things from the Potions Master, even though it is not necessarily a conscious endeavour.

Snape is definitely gearing up for things to get ugly. I'm glad you liked the portrayals of the various Death Eaters / grey characters here. I don't want to give too much away, but I think I can say that his conversations with Yaxley and Selwyn are multifaceted. He wants to gain an idea of their loyalties and positions for Dumbledore, but just as much, perhaps, wishes to sow seeds of his _own_ loyalties with them – so that he may use it as fodder in his argument to Voldemort that he has been on the Dark Lord's side the whole time. Of course, this is also all in follow-up to his conversation with the headmaster at the end of last term and again in the early chapters of this book, that they would watch the Death Eaters that remained at large as 'markers' to determine whether Voldemort had sought assistance in Britain and glean any information possible about his impending return.

Ah, Snape does a fair amount of teaching this chapter, doesn't he? I'm glad you liked his lessons. Your interpretation of Harry's thoughts was hilarious – and quite accurate. I would have thought him quite feverish indeed had I been in Harry's position and receiving _almost_ praise in that first lesson. In any case – you're right. The lesson on the levitation charm was far more peaceable than many of their interactions to date have been. The final exchange in particular, of course, is telling of how far they have come. Snape would _never_ approve of Harry's cheek for cheek's sake – he hates insolence. But here, he approves of Harry's floating the used phial into the bin because it is a demonstration of the magic he has just learned. You are correct in the second lesson as well… and Harry is certainly learning more about the correct way to brew than he seemed to in canon. Snape, here, also gives us a bit of insight into his own methods – which actually we've seen a bit in canon, through his adolescent notations in _Advanced Potion Making_. In most cases, the 'alterations' to the instructions were for precisely this purpose – it was Snape's recognition of _why_ a certain ingredient was added, or the potion had to be stirred, etc. They were his little notes to self that described how better to perfect that property. He shares one such tip here, with Harry. Will this affect Harry's capabilities? Most certainly. How… or to what effect that might alter the course of the story… we shall see.

Is the Order more aware of Voldemort's movements? Hmm… I don't know. It's hard to tell, as we didn't really see much from the Order perspective in JKR's original novels – so much was from Harry's lens. It's certainly possible. Harry definitely knows more than he did in canon, though of course he doesn't know everything. It's interesting that you feel he will never be back at Privet Drive… why, I wonder?

I'm glad you liked the Minerva and Augusta bit! I've been excited to have the chance to explore Minerva's female friendship here – she's so often (in canon and in my stories) seen with Albus or with the students. This is a bit of a different side to her. I love the Latin insinuations – because, of course, they are quite accurate. I agree completely on Neville. I do hope we can bring him out for a bit of fun earlier than in canon – and certainly we shall begin with 31 July.

Enjoy Chapter Fifteen!

 **Leonore** : Thank you for reviewing! It is wonderful to hear that you're liking the characterisations of the story so much. I'm afraid I can't take much credit, since JKR's raw material provides such a wonderfully rich palate for most of these characters… but I am glad you don't see any big mistakes yet, haha. Hope you like the next instalment!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the chapter and found it surprising… I hope you'll like the next chapter!

 **Jbrown26** : Thank you for your review! Great to hear that you're liking the story so much, including the deviations. As to Bill… well, I cannot say you are worrying needlessly. Gellert is quite a dangerous wizard… and he is only one player in the larger game. Enjoy Chapter Fifteen!

 **Guest** : Thanks for your review! I'll do my best to touch on everything. I must say – this is among the best thought out reviews I think I have ever received – your grasp of a lot of the metaphor and foreshadowing planted in the series thus far was quite astounding.

The full moon run… well, I can't speak to whether you are right or not, as I'm not quite sure what you anticipate… but I will say what I told another reviewer, which is that I certainly did not include it by accident. As to the question of whether Harry will pursue training as an Animagus – we shall have to see. I do have a scheme on this point, but it won't unfold for some time. The Runic Magic is such an exciting new area to explore – and yes, definitely a subject worthwhile. Harry is rather confused about it now, but it should all come to be more comprehensible in time.

The oak tree. Oh now, _this_ is the most important recurrent symbol in perhaps the entirety of Child of Hogwarts – and absolutely no mention of 'oak' or 'oak tree' has a single element of coincidence. Well done you for spotting its appearances along the way. As to the dream sequence – it was definitely metaphorical foreshadowing of several different events that have not yet come to pass, interspliced with some memories of Harry's early childhood. It is, quite frankly, probably one of the most important and revealing scenes that has been published thus far. You are channelling precisely the right idea in your musings on the order of events; where things change; and the dual Patronuses present in the forest. I will give one hint – which is that the stag and phoenix will have both metaphorical _and_ literal meanings. More than that, I cannot say without spoiling things… but you would do well to remember the dream, and the tale of Merlin, and the other places that oak and/or oak trees have played a role in COH, into the next few books. Answers are often hidden in plain sight. The oak tree is _everything_.

Harry isn't a Seer, but his exceptional instincts are not coincidental. They are tied very closely to his ability to attune to magic – which Dumbledore has just started helping him hone. Like the Sight, it is an innate power that one must be born with in order to perfect. I think exactly how this works for him will become clearer as the story moves forward.

Hagrid – ah, yes, I have neglected him a bit of late. We'll have him back in the story, I promise. As to Minerva and Augusta Longbottom's conversation – the fact that the windows were open was deliberate, though not perhaps wise. On Sybill – Minerva _does_ know she has actual powers, but of course also knows that her powers are not what Sybill herself believes them to be. It irritates her that Trelawney unnerves the students, and as a highly logical person who prefers her facts 'explainable', she has little patience for Divination because she does not understand it… and that frightens her. We'll see more of Minerva in lessons and elsewhere – as I promised another reviewer above – but unfortunately there just wasn't space in this chapter to develop that lesson more thoroughly. Harry is learning so much new magic at the moment, there are many areas I would love to explore that I have not had a chance to as yet. As things heat up with Voldemort, she will also have a more central role in that aspect of the story… but while Part I was really focused on Harry, Albus and Minerva and Part II as much on the Marauders' story as the events of present, Part III is really about the rise of two Dark Lords.

The potions ingredients Severus purchased will be VERY useful – and highly important at the start of Part V (I know, that's an age to wait… but remember I said it!). We might see them sooner than that… we'll see. Dung will get his orders in this next instalment – and, I should add, has actually been playing an unseen role all along that should be realised soon. I loved that Snape gets his actual 'teacher' moment here, though I'm sorry I had to give him a cold to bring it about. It would have been a cool explanation to say that he allowed the illness to progress when it would have been so easily cured because he was experimenting with some fascinating new brew. But, unfortunately, the true explanation is that he can be a bit of a masochist.

I hope you have a lovely Hallowe'en as well! The girls are a bit young to get too excited about the festivities, of course, but my husband's best mate is throwing a party. James wants to go as characters from A Song of Ice and Fire (eyeroll)… so he'll be Jon Snow, I'll be Dany, and the babies will be 'dragons'. I'm sure we'll be the only souls to think of such costumes in the age of Game of Thrones dominance…

 **Latiffera87** : Thank you for reviewing! Very excited to hear that you've discovered the series (and a huge thanks to whoever recommended the series to you – that's so nice to hear!). Wow – you _really_ powered through if you read everything since Saturday! I hope now you can get some much-needed rest, haha. I do try to post pretty frequently, so hopefully I do not keep you waiting long. I'm very grateful that you've enjoyed the characterisations and story line of COH thus far – and I hope the continuation will meet expectations!

Sirius and Remus' brotherhood is one of my favourites. And I think you are right – they heal each other, in many respects. Augusta – yes, much less canon material; or at least very little not seen through Neville's perspective or Harry's brief interactions with her. I wanted to explore a different side of her here – the friendship between her and Minerva. She doesn't parent (or grandparent?) the way that _I_ would… but she has her heart in the right place all the same. We shall definitely see more of both her and Neville in future.

Severus and Albus' dangerous quest is about to get… well, more dangerous. Severus does resent it… and yet, he sees it as penance. He _is_ undoubtedly supremely skilled in this area, in a way that is almost frightening at times. His feelings toward Albus are so complicated. He loves him, and he resents him. He looks up to him and trusts his wisdom, and yet at times he seems almost dismissive of Albus' idiosyncratic methods and his trust. He recognises that Albus is not wholly without sin… and yet, he shows distinct displeasure – even anger – when Albus displays uncharacteristic weakness or human fault. And Severus has the interesting past of having learned _both_ from Voldemort and from Albus – not just in the role of servant to both masters, but also magically. He is maddeningly frustrating at times – I quite agree. Yet he is also frustrated: with situations, with himself, and particularly with Harry. I think you are right on the simplistic explanation of his character. It is a web that yields excellent fodder for literature, I must say. As to his relationship with Harry… yes, he is definitely 'growing' on him in some ways. Of course, this will not be a smooth-sailing development, as no doubt you have imagined. But, ultimately, I think the pay-off will be well worth the journey.

Bertha Jorkins. Until now, her death has been 'other' – certainly affecting Harry, but with a sense of detachment that we might afford a particularly violent piece on the evening news: we know it was real and the suffering occurred, but there is a certain barrier all the same. Until you run into somebody involved in your day to day life. Until you realise, truly, that there are actual human beings behind the atrocious images; that the struggle has altered somebody's world, forever. Harry has that sort of realisation in Chapter Fourteen, brought on by an oblivious Bagman. Albus knows, sadly, that he cannot shield him from everything forever… and how that will unfold we shall soon see.

Ah, _so_ much left in this story to tell. Yes, we are definitely looking at a long novel… I'm hoping for a finish by the end of December / early January, but unless I am able to pick up the pace I think it likely that this story, like Part II, could take me near to a full year to complete. I'll do my best to keep it interesting and update as quickly as I possibly can without sacrificing the story in my haste. Thank you for the offer to Beta some of the German – I did have a bit of help with the last scene, as though I am familiar with German it is not my native tongue and I am nowhere near fluent – but I shall certainly take you up on the offer if I find I need to include the language again. I got some pushback from readers the last time I did – I suppose because German is less well known among English speakers than French or Spanish tends to be… but I do find that between two German-speaking characters, it's a bit odd to have a conversation in English. So odds are we might see such an interaction again in future. Thank you for the offer!

I do hope you enjoy Chapter Fifteen!

 **Me (Guest Reviews, Chapter 3 & 7)**: Thanks for reviewing for these chapters as well! On your guesses in Chapters Three and Seven – well, I think you will find your answer in Chapter Fifteen, actually. :)

 **Lordban** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you re-stumbled upon the Child of Hogwarts series, and I hope you will enjoy the continuation.

 **Guest Review** : Thank you for your review! All three Parts in one go! Wow – you _must_ be exhausted, haha. I hope you have had a chance to get some decent rest! I am very glad to hear you're liking the story so much, and I hope you will enjoy the continuation in Chapter Fifteen!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for reviewing! Ah, I am excited to get to the birthday… which I think will finally be here in the next instalment. Snape is SO stubborn – it's truly unbelievable. Haha, but it was rather fun to give him such a trifling concern when he has such real, terrible stresses in his life just now. Ah, and Harry realising about poor Bertha… it just makes the coming war so much real for him. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!


	16. The Master and the Wand

**A/N:** I apologise, as I really, _really_ would like to reach Harry's birthday in the next instalment and I didn't quite get that far with this one. This chapter was actually intended to be a bit longer – but unfortunately I took a tumble and fractured several ribs about a week ago, which is the reason this has been delayed. Consequently, I did not have the chance to write one more scene I really wanted, so it shall have to wait for the next chapter (and yes, I promise we'll finally reach Harry's birthday in that one as well).

Still, I am _quite_ excited to share a new chapter! I hope you'll enjoy it. It is _full_ of tension…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 **The Master and the Wand**

 _'Legilimens!'_

Severus had not given the boy any time to prepare. He knew this was not strictly fair.

But then again, _fair_ was not strictly his milieu.

Besides, he wanted to test the boy's raw defences. He needed to know how easily they were breached. He needed to know whether the Dark Lord was aware that he could do so. And he needed to know what it was that Potter had unwittingly unearthed, in his own unconscious invasion of the most treacherous mind alive.

This had better be worth it. Because Albus would be _livid_ when he returned.

The boy's mind was not entirely without protection, but it was hardly a fortress. Severus used more strength than was strictly necessary in his fear. The force of the spell drove through Potter's meagre construction like a dagger through unarmoured flesh. Severus caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a ring of fire… but it disappeared entirely in the wake of his attack.

Beyond, Potter's mind flickered in the confused cacophony typical of one badly frightened. Because Potter had no conscious memory of the recollection Severus sought, it was not easy for the Potions Master to determine a likely candidate among the sea of moments.

Severus latched onto an image to stop the chaos, forcing it to reform before his eyes. It was like trying to halt a speeding broomstick with a well-timed arm.

He saw Ludo Bagman's round, boyish face take shape…

 _'Supposed to have been Albania…'_ the man was saying.

Severus saw Potter's fright; saw Albus' consternation…

The scene changed.

Severus watched Albus waiting for Potter to finish being sick into a basin – unnoticed by the boy as he stood in the shadows of the doorway, his ancient face etched in weariness, concern and such a deep affection that it made Severus uncomfortable. It was as though he were intruding on a private grief.

After a few moments, the headmaster moved forward. Severus watched him crouch beside the boy and comfort him… but Albus did not hide the truth when Potter stated it.

Severus let the scene slip away. He pushed along this trail of thought for the next in the logical series. When the next scene formed about him, he knew at once he had arrived in Potter's dreams.

But it was not forward he had moved…

It was back.

He found himself in what seemed to be a dark, grimy cave. A woman lay upon the floor – a woman he vaguely recognised to be Bertha Jorkins, though she was very hard to distinguish in such a state of advanced ruin. It was clear, though she was alive, that Bertha was long beyond the reach of men – lying languid and bloodied in the dirt.

A great green snake hissed menacingly as it undulated near her head.

 _'Avada Kedavra!'_

Severus heard the high-pitched, familiar voice cry out the spell before he registered the presence of the Dark Lord.

Though he knew he could not be physically harmed in someone else's memory, he felt his blood freeze within him as he turned… and saw a horrible, flayed-looking creature in a crouch upon the ground. It had the shape – roughly – of a small human child; but there was nothing of innocence in that flat, snake-like face.

He recognised its eyes.

He recognised its wand.

The cavern was bathed in bright green light as the Dark Lord's spell – for it _had_ to have been him who spoke – snuffed what life remained from the broken witch upon the ground. The red-black form of the Dark Lord began hissing in parseltongue, calling the massive serpent toward him.

The scene flashed dark – Potter's mind seemed to flicker…

And it reformed again.

Severus could feel the pulse of another spell beginning… could hear the Dark Lord start to enchant… saw him press the tip of his wand to the space between the snake's eyes….

But the words, and even the details of the scene itself, were impossible to discern. For as the events unfolded before him, he could feel Potter's agony erupt – shrouding the memory; becoming the dominant force in the boy's mind.

The boy's subconscious was screaming in pain – writhing within the recesses of itself… And Severus, remembering Albus' warnings when first he had demanded to see this scene in exactly this manner, was struck with a pang of apprehension.

He relinquished it, though reluctantly. The Dark Lord and his pet floated away from him, reclaimed by the abyss of swirling thought.

The scene had faded – but Severus could still feel that heady presence… as though the Dark Lord had left his lingering shadow upon Potter's mind with these stolen thoughts.

He hesitated in the sea of streaming colour and flickering images – trying to test this odd sensation.

He did not think it was truly the Dark Lord. For if he had discovered he could connect to Potter, if he were _capable_ in his strange half-form of forming such a connection – if there were _two_ of them warring for control of Potter's mind… _he_ , Severus, would have known. He would have sensed it; and the Dark Lord, in turn, would have recognised Severus.

No… this was a thread. A strand of connection that – as Dumbledore had intimated – had not entirely gone. The ghost of Legilimency completed, perhaps. Potter's odd, incomprehensible Legilimency… which seemed to invade the Dark Lord from afar without conscious command.

A powerful skill, and a dangerous one. A blessing, perhaps, but a curse. A maddening dichotomy. Like everything else about the Potter boy. Like Harry Potter's very existence: half Lily… half James.

He pressed tentatively toward the sensation, though Albus' warnings still echoed in his ears. He felt for what he hoped would be the scene Potter could not recall: whatever had happened, tonight. It took a great effort. He could feel himself growing weary from the magic, but he did not give in. He could tell he was close.

After what seemed like a lifetime, a new image began to form.

This was hazier than the last – unfinished and broken – like Severus were watching through the wrong end of a poorly focused telescope.

'We have made it,' came that high, cold voice – muffled, but discernible all the same.

Severus could just make out a short, plump figure shrouded in a black cloak, climbing carefully out of what seemed to be a small boat. An older seaman sat in front, holding the sailboat steady with the vacant expression of one suffering the influence of an Imperius Curse.

'We… we have, my Lord,' came a second voice – the shrouded man's. The hood of the cloak hid his face, but Severus recognised this voice too: Peter Pettigrew.

The same great snake from the cavern was coiled on the dock. She gave a hiss as she watched Pettigrew disembark with her master in his arms.

'Leave me here, Wormtail. Make him drink the phial,' the Dark Lord commanded.

'M-my Lord?' Pettigrew questioned. 'Wouldn't the curse be –'

'The curse is more easily traced,' the Dark Lord interrupted. 'If you cast it, the Ministry may make inquiries. I do not have the time or patience to dispose of both the body and the boat, and make some cover-up story for his family… we would do better with the potion. All will assume he has succumbed to the illness in his lungs. And the delay shall give us time to be gone from this place. Do it – and quickly.'

Pettigrew set down what looked like a pile of filthy robes. It shifted on the dock, while the snake encircled it protectively. The sight made Severus feel ill.

He watched Wormtail hold a phial to the lips of the Imperiused Muggle… but he could not discern what brew would hail the old man's end – not through the hazy quality of the memory.

'Good,' the Dark Lord approved, as Pettigrew climbed out of the little boat again.

The old man pushed off and began his course into the sea – completely unaware that he sailed to his death.

'Very good,' the Dark Lord said.

He held up scaly red arms, and Pettigrew bent to lift him. His hood slipped slightly in the effort – and Severus could read utter revulsion in the set of his face.

'I am weary from the journey, Wormtail,' the Dark Lord proclaimed, adjusting himself in his servant's grasp. 'I desire to rest before we press onward. We shall find a place to milk Nagini, and spend the day. Tomorrow – we travel again.'

'Yes, my Lord. Of course,' Pettigrew agreed at once. His hands shook as they cradled their burden.

'Do not look so forlorn, Wormtail,' the Dark Lord chastised. 'Tonight is one for celebration. We have made it – home.'

The scene began to fade. As though its ending were an internal signal, Potter's consciousness faded with it. The memory fell into a dark abyss this time; the sea of thought churning slower… fogging over…

Severus could not even summon chagrin through his shock and horror. But he pulled out of the boy's mind quickly, aware of the dangers both within and without the room. His own head was aching as it found his body once more. But this, he knew, would be nothing to the child's.

It took him some moments to re-grasp reality. He was unsurprised upon the recovery of his senses to find that Potter was completely limp – sprawled upon the carpet where he had slipped off the sofa under the fit Severus' magic and the Dark Lord's mind had induced. He hurried to his side, blinking against the ache from such a prolonged invasion. He summoned pain reliever and Invigoration Draught as he knelt, and pressed his fingers to the boy's neck.

Potter's pulse was thready. Severus had somewhat expected to find him overly warm – remembering his reaction to these dreams in the past – but instead, Potter's skin felt icy beneath his fingers. Some of his shock wearing off, Severus felt a new fear take its place.

 _Had he pushed too far? If he had damaged the boy, Albus would…_

The phials bumped gently against his hand. Severus uncorked a pain reliever and the Invigoration Draught and pulled the boy up so that he was supporting his torso. He wrenched Potter's jaw open, forcing both potions down his throat and massaging it to make him swallow. He ignored his own draughts, watching Potter closely.

After a moment, Potter moaned. He began to stir beneath Severus' hand. The Potions Master manoeuvred himself quickly out from behind the boy, floating him with his wand back onto the sofa. He downed the same two phials quickly while Potter brought himself back to consciousness, giving silent thanks as they worked their magic.

He would need his wits about him for this next part.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _'Haven't you found anything yet?' Gellert demanded, looking up from the steaming cauldron to stare at Albus through the fumes._

 _'No,' Albus answered shortly as he flicked through the pages. 'Jesuit's Bark, Gellert,' he reminded his companion. 'It has been seventeen minutes.'_

 _Gellert muttered something rather uncouth, but obediently stirred in the ingredient. Albus looked up from his appraisal of the tome to watch that the potion turned the proper shade of lilac. He gave a satisfied nod as it deepened on Gellert's third cycle of anticlockwise turns, and returned his focus to the ancient pages._

 _'Three books we have been through now, Albus,' his companion recalled in frustration. 'Three books… and four days. And what have we to show?'_

 _'The ninth use of Dragon's blood,' Albus reminded him. 'And an excellent one it is. The treatment to date for severe burns has always been painful and long. I daresay St Mungo's shall name a wing after us, for this.'_

 _'Oh joy,' Gellert mumbled without enthusiasm._

 _'It is joyous,' Albus disagreed. 'And it makes one wonder what other healing potions could come from its use. Already I have written on its efficacy against verruca… but I am keen to explore its possibility as a respiratory aide. When on the fire for more than three hours, even without these added ingredients, dragon blood releases a haze that seems to calm the breathing – almost as though it were calling extra oxygen into the air. It could be it is a way to aide those suffering from respiratory illnesses beyond currently available potions.'_

 _'A theory very difficult to test,' Gellert pointed out, 'Without subjects_ suffering _from the ailment.'_

 _'I still think you were mad to let me try that last one on you,' Albus mumbled as he flipped to the 'P' section._

 _'An element of madness is present in most genius,' Gellert opined. 'And a precursor to breakthrough discovery.'_

 _Albus snorted. 'Perhaps,' he agreed. 'But sometimes, Gellert, madness is simply madness.'_

 _In his peripheral vision, he caught Gellert shrug. 'I would have tried anything to spare myself a tedious afternoon in a London hospital,' he insisted. 'It was fortuitous for you, really, that my efforts with the pixie wings were not as productive as yours with dragon blood, or you might never have had opportunity to test your hypothesis.'_

 _Albus grinned. 'That is the second cauldron you have exploded since we met,' he teased. 'Perhaps it would be more productive for you to do the research exclusively, and I the brewing. I am beginning to think you missed the finer points of Potions lessons… or perhaps Durmstrang's curriculum is a touch less advanced than that which Hogwarts offers.'_

 _Gellert made a scathing noise. 'The first was_ your _fault, if you recall, Albus,' he shot back. 'And I cannot stare unendingly at lists of English names. They all blur together so easily.'_

 _Albus rolled his eyes. 'Are we playing the foreigner angle now?' he ribbed._

 _'If it keeps you reading,' Gellert said unapologetically. 'And I do believe you started it.'_

 _'Just continue with the tonic,' Albus said, smirking as he nodded at the brew._

 _'Useless without a test subject,' Gellert mumbled again. But he obediently added the crushed horehound all the same._

 _'I wonder whether there is not some other sort of magic at work here,' Albus mused quietly, frowning down at the fourth volume in the stack they had compiled between Bathilda's collection and his late father's. 'Even supposing the surname of Peverell vanished centuries ago, I should at least have been able to locate Ignotus' line by now.'_

 _'Yes,' Gellert agreed, frowning irritably again. 'You should have.'_

 _Albus sighed. 'But how…' he mused aloud, tapping his fingers against the edges of the book. 'You know… perhaps Ignotus has hidden himself.'_

 _Gellert made a noise of scepticism. 'In one book, it might be possible,' he agreed. 'But this is four so far, Albus. And all were published after Ignotus' death. How could he possibly have hidden himself_ and _his brothers… the entirety of their family line?'_

 _'Supposing they were the Three,' Albus reminded him._

 _'Yes, of course,' Gellert consented. 'But even so, Albus –'_

 _'There is no spell that I know of that could do it,' Albus said. 'But that does not mean that it is impossible. Perhaps it was an incantation lost to time; perhaps it was a spell of Ignotus' own creation. But certainly, it seems theoretically achievable. Not all magic dies with its caster. After all, we can create buildings unplottable for all time. The Fidelius Charm will work indefinitely – or, at least, until its seal is deliberately broken. There are wards on Hogwarts Castle that have stood for centuries. It seems plausible that Ignotus might have conceived of a similar method to hide the existence of the Peverell line.'_

 _'It is… not impossible,' Gellert allowed. 'But why would he do such a thing? Do you think others were already coveting the Cloak while he was alive?'_

 _'Perhaps,' Albus agreed. 'Or, perhaps, Ignotus did not want the Hallows united.'_

 _'The three most powerful magical objects,' Gellert mused. 'If the stories are true. Power instils lust, and always has done.'_

 _'Yes, it begets lust,' Albus said. 'And also fear. Perhaps it was more the latter that drove the third brother. Perhaps Ignotus feared the power of the Deathly Hallows because they had led to the deaths of his two brothers. Or, perhaps, he worried that their combined power would prove too much for any wizard who might achieve unification; that it would corrupt him utterly.'_

 _'The old adage,' Gellert mocked. 'A fable promulgated by the weak. Power does not corrupt –_ people _corrupt. Power in the right hand brings order. And in the wrong, chaos. It is the wizard who chooses his path.'_

 _'It is,' Albus agreed. 'It is always the intent behind the decision that matters, just as it is intent that drives the force of magic.'_

 _'Precisely,' said Gellert with a small smile. 'Which is why, Albus,_ we _are the ones destined to bring this world back into power. Because we understand just what that power means. Wissen ist Macht.'_

 _He looked down into the cauldron. 'I think it is nearly finished,' he said with a nod. 'It will need forty-six minutes to stew.'_

 _'Excellent,' Albus said. 'Then I think I might go up and check on things for a minute… perhaps bring down some food. Are you hungry?'_

 _'Starving,' Gellert agreed with a grin._

 _'It, er… might be better if you wait –' Albus started awkwardly._

 _He did not wish to bring Gellert face to face with Aberforth just yet – not so soon after the scene in the sitting room that had left his brother so furious. Aberforth had not kicked up the fuss Albus had expected when he and Gellert had begun to work at the house – but the daggers he glared each night over supper spoke volumes on their own. Albus suspected he held his tongue for their sister's sake, rather than out of pleasure to have Albus so near on a more constant basis. He made no attempt to interrupt their work; and no effort to meet Gellert at all. The latter had never mentioned this slight – and Albus rather doubted he cared._

 _'Actually, I need to step out,' Gellert assured him, ending Albus' broken thought. 'Though I should not be long.'_

 _'Very well,' Albus agreed, inwardly relieved. They walked upstairs together. Gellert turned right for the door, and Albus left._

 _The small house was eerily silent. This was better than what the alternative might suggest, but it did leave Albus somewhat uneasy. He paused in the front room to tend the potted plants, which were looking rather neglected in the absence of their usual caretaker. Albus felt a pang for his mother as he shot a stream of water from the end of his wand. Through the bay window, he watched Gellert striding away from the house. He was surprised to see the latter appeared to be headed for the village rather than Bathilda's._

 _The Screechsnap began protesting violently, drawing Albus' attention from the lane as it squirmed and littered the floor with droplets._

 _'Sorry,' he muttered to it distractedly. He shot a light drying spell to ease the cantankerous plant, and a more powerful one at the floor._

 _He had never been particularly inclined toward gardening._

 _Albus poked his head into the sitting room next, where he spotted Aberforth lounging with what looked like a pile of socks for darning. Ariana was nowhere in sight._

 _'How is she?' Albus asked, slipping into the room quietly._

 _His brother gave him the same deadpan stare he seemed to have perfected these past weeks. Albus rather thought it grew more menacing with each passing day. He had hoped that his relocation – for he and Gellert had kept exclusively to the Dumbledore cellar in lieu of Bathilda's since that day in the churchyard – would have stifled his brother's resentment over his absence from the house. This, however, had not come to pass. Instead, it only seemed to grow his ire. Albus suspected it was only the fortuitous discovery of the phoenix tears' use that had thus far quelled another outburst from his brother… let alone Ariana._

 _'Fine,' Aberforth said, very stiffly. 'Asleep.'_

 _'Asleep?' Albus repeated in some concern. 'Still?'_

 _It was not unusual, especially of late, for Ariana to sleep quite late… nor indeed, to sleep at odd hours during the day. They knew what the Obscurus took from her; the energy it drained – more and more as she aged. But it did not assuage either of their anxiety._

 _But Aberforth shook his head. 'No, not still,' he said. 'She was up for some hours, while you were piddling about down there. I fixed luncheon and she went to lie down after.'_

 _Albus frowned as he pulled his pocket watch. He had not realised so much of the day had passed._

 _'I'm sorry,' he apologised. 'I should have seen to luncheon, but I'm afraid I lost track of the time. Do you need –'_

 _'We don't need anything from you,' Aberforth said shortly. 'Go about with whatever you're up to with that German, Albus. Just keep it well away from us.'_

 _Albus sighed, but he did not push the issue. Leaving Aberforth glowering at a patched pair of socks, he went into the kitchen to fix something for himself and Gellert. He heard the front door open and close as he finished up. Despite the sour interaction with his brother, he smiled softly to himself._

 _The prospect of searching for this unknown spell excited him. It was exactly the sort of intellectual exercise he had so dearly missed in the weeks since Kendra's passing._

 _He levitated the two plates of luncheon before him as he made his way back down the cellar stairs. Just as he reached the door at their base, however, he froze. Beyond the wood, he could hear soft voices – Gellert's… and a second, unmistakably feminine._

 _He pushed open the door with some trepidation. Gellert was not alone in the workspace. With him was a woman._

 _She was quite a young woman – though he guessed she had several years on both her companions. The woman was very slight of figure, with a pale, heart-shaped face and jet black hair that reminded him of his mother's. She had dark eyes that seemed overly large against the pallor of her complexion and slightly gaunt cheeks. Despite the warmth of the season, she wore a dark grey gown more suited to a winter's day and unsuited entirely to her colouring. She clutched a cream coloured shawl tight round her shoulders. One gloved hand held a well-used handkerchief. Albus noticed that both this and the shawl were flecked with scarlet._

 _But none of this was what made him stare in such high astonishment. For the woman, he could tell immediately, was a Muggle._

 _Before he could offer an introduction – a task he was, admittedly, struggling to manage – the woman broke into a hacking cough._

 _'Gellert?' he said in an undertone._

 _He did not take his gaze from her – but he knew Gellert would have heard the demand in his tone nonetheless._

 _'Albus,' Gellert acknowledged, stepping forward with an ill-disguised smirk. 'This is Letitia Grant. She lives on the other side of the village.'_

 _'Ms Grant,' Albus greeted, inclining his head slightly. 'A pleasure to make your acquaintance.'_

 _The woman gave a small bob. Albus got the impression that she could not yet speak from her fit._

 _'Gellert,' he repeated, his tone even more clipped._

 _'Why don't you sit?' Gellert said solicitously to the woman._

 _He led her by the elbow to a corner of the room and helped her into a chair. She did not seem to mind her obvious removal from the conversation; nor did she seem to register the privacy charm Gellert threw up as he left her side._

 _'What are you doing?' Albus hissed as he re-joined him. The woman began to cough again in her corner chair. 'Bringing a Muggle_ here _?! Our research, the Statute of Secrecy, my_ sister _? Have you completely lost your –'_

 _'Peace, Albus,' Gellert requested, holding up a hand to cut off the rant. 'I brought her for you. She is a gift.'_

 _'A_ gift _?' Albus echoed drily._

 _'Indeed,' Gellert agreed, grinning as though he were Father Christmas himself. 'A most excellent gift.'_

 _'She is a person, Gellert, not a pumpkin pasty,' Albus ground out. 'And a Muggle at that. What on earth are you –'_

 _'She is ill, Albus,' Gellert said, as though Albus were remarkably slow. 'She has a Muggle affliction they call 'consumption'.'_

 _'I have heard of the illness,' said Albus impatiently. 'But –'_

 _'Then you know it is fatal,' Gellert interrupted._

 _'That is the general consensus, from what I understand,' Albus agreed. 'A most pitiable fate. But it does not explain why you have brought her –'_

 _'It is a respiratory illness, Albus,' Gellert said, his eyes widening suggestively. 'A respiratory illness with no known Muggle cure.'_

 _And Albus understood. He took a step backward, shaking his head as he stared at Grindelwald._

 _'No,' he said firmly. 'Absolutely not. It's preposterous, Gellert.'_

 _'It is not preposterous,' Gellert disagreed. 'It is fortuitous, Albus. You need a subject to test your theory. I have spent all morning assisting you in creating the brew… and for what? So it might sit on a shelf to go off?'_

 _'We are_ not _testing this theory on an innocent Muggle woman,' Albus spat. 'Forget the law – what about the practical implications? I have no idea if the potion is even a viable option for_ wizards _– and she has no magic.'_

 _'The properties of dragon blood which made it effective in treating burns and verruca did not engage the drinker's own magic,' he remined Albus. 'They operated by use of the magical properties of the ingredients themselves. It will not be necessary for her to have magical blood.'_

 _'Perhaps not, Gellert, but certain magical compounds cannot be imbibed by Muggles!' Albus contradicted. 'Their very genetic makeup is different from yours or mine – you know that. They have no Magical Core. The magic in the brew could accelerate the disease. It could poison her. it could kill her. She could die – if we do this!'_

 _The woman could not hear Albus' words through the privacy shield, but she seemed to have recovered enough from her fit to watch the mounting anger in his face all the same. As he finished his tirade, Albus saw her rise from the chair. She moved past Gellert's privacy ward and toward them in the centre of his room._

 _'If we do nothing, she will die,' Gellert pointed out._

 _He did not bother to keep his voice down, though Albus knew he had not missed her movement. He spoke as though the woman were not in the room at all; or as though she could not understand them, though her anxious eyes were darting from one to the other._

 _'Please, sir,' she said, her voice trembling as she looked at Albus._

 _He started at the oddity of the formal address, from one so much older than himself._

 _'You're all I got,' she told him tremulously. 'This boy… he says you can take the consumption away. Is it true? Can you do it?'_

 _Albus glared at Gellert. 'I am certain of nothing,' he warned the woman, though he addressed the comment to his companion. 'And this… the – er – medicine we're working with… it is not in general use. We cannot be sure that Mu- er… that all people will react the same. Do you understand?'_

 _Letitia Grant looked around the room – taking in the simmering cauldron, the odd ingredients on the table, the wands in both wizards' hands._

 _'My mother talked about black magic,' she said after a moment. Her voice was low, but not afraid. Albus was rather impressed. 'She said never to get mixed up in it. But mother died three years ago, same way I'm going now. And if black magic could have saved her, and I'd known where to go to find it… I would have.'_

 _'_ Black magic _,' Gellert repeated with an obvious chortle._

 _Albus gave him a stern sideways look. 'It is not_ dark _magic,' he clarified. 'But it_ is _magic. And you… are not magical,' he said as gently as he could._

 _'You're a…er… a witch, then?' Letitia asked tentatively._

 _'A wizard,' Albus corrected, with a small half-smile he could not help. 'But to your eyes, the same general principles apply.'_

 _'I don't care,' the woman said firmly. 'If you can save me – I don't care.'_

 _'I do not know that I can,' Albus said gently. 'And it is essential that you understand that. You are not magical, but the properties of this medication_ are _. Sometimes, that is not a problem. At other times, it can cause a severe reaction. It may not work at all. It may make it worse. It could even end your life much faster than this illness itself.'_

 _The woman twisted her bloody handkerchief between her fingers for a moment, before looking up to meet Albus' eyes._

 _'Have you evere watched someone die from consumption?' she asked quietly._

 _'I have not,' Albus admitted._

 _'I have,' the girl said._

 _'Your mother,' Albus remembered with a solemn nod._

 _'Yes,' the girl agreed. 'My mother, and my two younger brothers. Both my aunts, one uncle, and four cousins. I can tell you, sir, that whatever might happen to me from this… it can't be worse than what happens at the end of the consumption. I don't want to die like that. And if this is my only chance – I'll take it.'_

 _'It is not what I would advise,' Albus warned again, though with less conviction. 'It is…'_

 _'Please, sir,' the woman begged, her voice breaking – either from desperation, or perhaps the mere weight of so many words on its weakened existence. 'Please… have mercy.'_

 _Albus hesitated._

 _Gellert had already gone over to the cauldron. He summoned a ladle and carefully measured out a dose from the brew into a conjured golden goblet. The woman watched him do it with unadulterated reverence in her expression._

 _Gellert held the goblet out for Albus' inspection. His own eyes shone with an anticipation even greater than the desperate woman's – chips of amethyst in his handsome face._

 _Albus took it in a long-fingered hand, debating as he watched the steam rise in slow, shimmering furls from within. Letitia Grant shoulders shook in another coughing fit. Albus could feel his resolve faltering._

 _'She wants it, Albus,' Gellert whispered._

 _He had come to stand behind him, and spoke so softly in Albus' ear that Albus might have thought it only in his head, had he not jumped at the heat of the breath so close._

 _'You are not doing this out of selfish desire, Albus…' Gellert repeated, as though he could hear Albus' internal debate. 'You are doing it for her own good.'_

 _Albus sighed. He waved his wand through the air, and a small, comfortable bed appeared – the very same model that he remembered from the Hogwarts hospital wing._

 _'Lie down, Ms Grant,' he invited. 'And we shall see what the potion can do.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Albus did not announce his arrival. He apparated soundlessly to the gates and crept up the hill as silently as a wraith. He spoke briefly with Lakkai in the entrance hall, where he was barely able to conceal his rage, and took the many steps to the highest tower two at a time.

The climb ought to have left him winded – but it did not. It merely increased his wrath.

The door burst ajar for him.

Gellert was seated by the fireside, three large tomes open on the table in front of him. He did not start at the unexpected arrival, but as his eyes came up, he looked momentarily surprised to find it was not his customary younger caller.

'Albus,' he greeted, pushing back from the table.

If he scented danger in the headmaster's expression, it did not mar his own. He stood and walked nearer. Albus pushed the door closed behind him, spelling it shut.

'You try my patience, Gellert,' Albus said coolly. 'A dangerous endeavour.'

Gellert raised a supercilious eyebrow. 'You may have to elaborate,' he said, when Albus did not continue. 'I'm afraid, Albus, I have no idea to what you are referring.'

Albus took a few steps nearer, fingering the wand in his pocket. He could feel its magic awakening in his anger – eager for what may come.

'I have had an interesting evening,' he said quietly. 'Full of… revelations, I might say.'

Gellert frowned. He carefully marked the page of the largest book with a length of ribbon and pushed it aside.

'If the boy is making trouble,' he hedged, 'I assure you, Albus – I have been on naught but my best behaviour. It is good for him to –'

'Mr Weasley is not the problem. I have given you a great deal of leniency, Gellert,' Albus continued. 'But my tolerance wanes.'

He looked around the room as he spoke – but he saw no sign of her. He had not really expected one.

'Where is the eagle?' he demanded.

Gellert's expression did not change. 'Flüstern?' he queried easily, as though there might be confusion on the point. 'She is hunting, or nesting, perhaps. She is not a pet, Albus…. I hardly know her timetable.'

'You abuse the gifts I have allowed,' Albus said. 'Perhaps that is my fault. I – who am too eager to hope for the good in you… I close my eyes to the certain knowledge that I am laying far too much temptation. And you press the advantage, as you always have done.'

'Albus –'

'You have used her like you do every being that crosses your path,' he accused. 'She was an innocent… and you destroyed that. You exploited it, as you have always masterfully managed.'

He paced the room, sending papers fluttering as though caught in a high wind. Gellert tracked him with violet eyes.

'Do we still speak of the bird, Albus?' he asked softly. 'For I must correct you if so. I rescued Flüstern from certain death. She was broken and beaten on the floor, and _I_ raised her up. I gave her a future, and I gave her purpose. That she has given me her loyalty in return is hardly something I can be expected to regret.'

'You have used her, Grindelwald,' Albus repeated in a thunderous voice. 'It is what you do. You have engaged her in your games; your schemes and your plots… created her a spy and a messenger to thwart my safeguards – endangered the well-being and lives of those _I_ love in the process.'

Still, Gellert did not move.

'And what is it _you_ do, Albus?' he challenged coolly. 'You speak of my games; my plots and schemes… but you paint a self-portrait, my old friend. I am shut here in this tower at your command, am I not? _I_ am limited. Who is your check then I wonder… when your rival has been dispensed with? Who pushes you to your limits now, Albus? Who counters the weight of _your_ grandeur?'

Albus ignored the insidious blow. At one time, he might have paused for it – truths woven into lie as they were so expertly; spoken to ensnare his mind. But this had always been the danger, with this man. This was always his way…

And Albus was so far from eighteen now.

'Is it the boy?' Gellert asked lightly, when Albus had stayed silent too long. 'I did think she frightened him…'

'Bill Weasley did not bring the situation to my attention,' Albus said shortly, and not entirely untruthfully. 'No, Gellert… I found your petty _source_ …'

The room darkened as the weight of Albus' anger broke free of its restraint. Even Gellert seemed to lean back in his chair.

'You have been sending him after Harry,' Albus accused, his voice a deadly whisper. 'You have been interfering in _his_ life, Gellert… and that is a penchant I cannot allow. If you continue to endanger him – I _will_ destroy you.'

'Endanger?' Gellert repeated, looking politely incredulous even in the face of the headmaster's rage. 'I have certainly done nothing of the sort, Albus. I have great respect for your Golden Boy. I would never dream of threatening him. He intrigues me… as he does most of the Wizarding World, it would seem. I have never hidden this from you.'

'He is NOT some twisted experiment, Gellert!' Albus spat. 'He is not a pawn for your game.'

'No…' Gellert agreed, a small smile creeping mockingly across his face. 'He is a pawn for _yours._ _Your_ weapon to mould, this time. And what a weapon he shall be… I confess myself quite jealous. You never could share well, Albus…'

A burst of scarlet light rent the room. Gellert looked around curiously, in time to see the mantle above the hearth crack in two. The various shabby objects on its surface rolled, plunked and crashed to the floor, leaving heaps of twisted metal and shattered glass in their wake.

'A pity,' Gellert said mildly. 'Lakkai does so detest cleaning up here.'

Albus ignored him, trying to breathe himself calm – even while the latest taunt rang shrill in his skull. It was several moments before he could manage speech.

'Harry is a child, Gellert, not a weapon,' he ground out at last. 'And he is _mine._ You will keep that bird away.'

'Or what?' Gellert challenged, still smirking. 'You would kill an innocent creature, Albus? Because it flew too close to your precious boy? And Weasley was so insistent that was not the sort of wizard you had become…'

Albus leaned down so they were nearly nose to nose. They had not been this close, he thought wildly, in almost half a century.

'Make no mistake, Gellert,' he promised. 'I would destroy the bird _and_ her master at the slightest hint that Harry was in harm's way. _That_ is the sort of wizard I have become.'

He pushed his hands off the arms of the wooden chair. To his fury, Gellert's gaze registered not a hint of fear. If anything, he looked more smug than ever.

'That is the sort of _father_ you have become,' he corrected quietly. 'A dangerous sentiment, Albus… I did try to warn you.'

Thunder rent the room again.

'I gave you your life, Gellert,' Albus hissed. 'Do not make me regret it.'

Gellert gave a scornful laugh. 'An empty threat, Albus,' he mocked. 'You have never been a pointless killer. You shall not use the curse to achieve your vengeance, and you never have done. You are all about meaning, aren't you? You are all about purpose. You trapped me in this tower for one… and you return me from isolation now with one even greater. Rant and rage as you like. Seal my windows and throw up more wards to ensure my seclusion. I care not. For still, you will come. You must – and you know it.'

'I can do it without you,' Albus assured him. 'I always could.'

Gellert grinned evilly. 'Perhaps, and perhaps not,' he disagreed. 'In time? Yes… I dare say you could. But two brilliant minds are always faster aren't they, Albus? How many times did we prove it so?'

'We had one summer, Gellert,' Albus reminded him. 'One summer caught in the dangerous crosshairs of cleverness and youth. Three months I would trade the century since to eliminate.'

'You would not,' Gellert challenged. 'Oh you regretted how it ended, of course. As did I, Albus – though I know you will not think me honest. But that summer – those months – _me_ … it made you who you are, Albus Dumbledore.'

'You did not –' Albus began.

But Grindelwald's voice interrupted – his own magic now pummelling the room with near equal strength to the headmaster's.

' _I_ MADE _you_!' he shouted. And the words echoed off the stone of the circular tower, ringing and repeating through the rafters.

'Just as thoroughly as I did the eagle, Albus, I plucked you from despair and raised you to glory. That summer was just the beginning, my friend; and a century on, we have yet to reach our end. Everything you have done since – the powers you have grown and honed and perfected; the magics you have brought to new heights; even the champion you have become for the downtrodden and the weak. You would have none of it, if it were not for me. Had we not shared history, you would not be. If _I_ had not pushed you for decades from afar – had the world not _needed_ you to be their Saviour… you would have languished away in that Hollow, perhaps written, or researched. You are lauded the Greatest Wizard of the Age, Albus Dumbledore, because _I_ made you fight to wear the crown!'

For the first time in years, Albus Dumbledore completely lost his temper.

He slashed out with the Elder Wand, throwing its erstwhile master across the room to crash, hard, into the wooden table. Gellert was near as quick with a wandless Cushioning Charm – but it was no match for Albus' power, nor that of the wand. The table cracked as Gellert's weight hit it.

Almost immediately, a part of Albus regretted the magic.

He could feel the thrum of satisfaction in the weapon – this was its favourite kind. It was precisely why he had been suited to tame the Wand… because _he_ would not use it for such purpose. He never allowed it to strike like this – for pleasure; in anger; without a greater goal. He never allowed such vindictive action from himself.

He hated that Gellert had provoked it from him now.

Hated that he was bleeding and crumpled, at Albus' hand.

He muttered a charm and Gellert was pulled upright and floated into a seat. Albus repaired the table with a flick of his wrist; the shattered mantle with a wave of his hand.

But still, the anger sang in his heart. He relented to its call, and the room trembled as he approached the crouched and bleeding foe upon the chair.

'Never forget who won the duel, Gellert,' he whispered. 'Do not forget who _triumphed_ in the end, or why.'

He pointed the wand at Gellert, who was testing his swollen lip with a long-nailed finger. Gellert's violet eyes snapped to it, his expression both hungry and calculating; the ghost of a smirk still pulling at his lips.

But Albus did not curse, this time. He healed.

He ran a nonverbal diagnostic, and directed the wand to mend the fractured ribs. He summoned the elf for a phial of pain reliever. He touched the cuts on Gellert's eyebrow and lip with practised fingers, letting his own magic knit the skin. Gellert closed his eyes at the contact.

'You do need me, Albus,' he murmured quietly, his eyes still closed. 'Time is running short. You are less than a year from Tom Riddle's return, and no closer to defeating him than you were this time last summer. Oh you could do it alone, I suppose… but where does that leave you, my friend? Where does it leave your child, if you forgo the chance to accelerate success? He will need every advantage, Albus, if he is to prove triumphant. You know this.'

Albus did not speak. He pushed himself off his knees, leaving Gellert to recover in his chair as he made for the door – seeking the exit with more pain than relief.

He was nearly there when the burst of fire and song exploded through the air, like balm for his very soul. The phoenix soared once around the desolate room, crying his beautiful music to the silent night before slowing to hover inches from Albus' head.

The headmaster smiled, stroking one long finger down Fawkes' beak.

'It was not you, Gellert,' he said, turning from the threshold for his parting shot.

Gellert shifted slightly so he could stare at Albus again, his violet eyes slightly unfocused from the pain potion – looking between phoenix and master.

'It was never you,' Albus repeated quietly, his own eyes on the bird. 'It was – always – her. I am who I am because _she_ died. Not because you live.'

And he grasped Fawkes' hot tail feathers with an outstretched hand, a small smile gracing his face as the phoenix swept him home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Bloody hell,' Harry moaned.

He clutched at his head, which felt like it had been recently cleaved open. He was flat on his back on uncomfortably rigid leather. It took him a few moments to recall that this was _Snape's_ sofa. Then, of course, the rush of the past few… minutes? Hours?... came back to him.

He pushed himself straight in a rush of anger, though he immediately regretted this as Snape's eerily green room began to swim.

'You!' he began, furiously.

'Careful now, Potter,' Snape cut across him. 'You would not wish to say something you will regret.'

'You had _no right_!' Harry bellowed all the same – though he did refrain from calling Snape something that might be likely to earn him a hex to the mouth. 'NO RIGHT!' he repeated.

'I had every right, Potter,' Snape disagreed, his own voice perfectly level. 'I am your professor and your magical superior. I did what I felt was necessary to fulfil both roles.'

'You are _not_ my professor in Occlumency!' Harry disagreed. 'And you have no business invading my head like that – without even asking me; without giving me a _chance_ to –'

'The entire point was to catch you off guard,' Snape said, completely unrepentant. 'And your defences, Potter, should be up at _all_ times – you should have no need for warning to call them to you. If you wish to stop me, you shall need to learn.'

'What you did was _illegal_!' Harry shouted.

He tried to push himself to his feet, desperate to be out of this room and the professor's presence… but the carpet came up to meet him. Strong hands grasped his shoulders before he could slam the floor, and Harry felt himself laid on the sofa again.

'Careful,' Snape repeated, sounding more clinical than worried. 'You should not strain yourself until your mind has recovered.'

'It only _needs_ recovering because of you!' Harry spat angrily, pushing against the hands still restraining him.

Snape moved only one, pressing it against Harry's forehead instead. The scar beneath gave an angry twinge.

'Get _off_!' Harry bellowed, waving his arms wildly instead. One flailing hand connected with something solid. There was a grunt and a hiss of pain, and Harry was suddenly released. He pushed himself vertical, ignoring the dizziness, and saw Snape bent over slightly, testing his hooked nose with ginger fingers.

He did not apologise. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he'd broken it. Snape would have deserved it.

'What do you remember of the Legilimency?' Snape demanded, releasing his slightly bloodied nose with a short grimace. The nose still looked straight – much to Harry's ire.

'I'm leaving,' he spat instead, making to push off the sofa again.

Snape used his wand instead this time. Harry felt himself spelled roughly to the seat.

'You are not,' Snape said silkily. 'You will remain until the headmaster returns, Potter. You need to be monitored… and we need to talk.'

'I'm not ill,' Harry spat back vindictively. 'I haven't even got a fever. And I am _not_ staying in the same _room_ as you!'

Snape rubbed angrily at his temple, as though Harry's shrill voice were hurting his head. Harry hoped it was – for his own was splitting thanks to Snape.

'Did you remember the dream?' the professor demanded, ignoring his outburst.

Harry scowled. 'Not until I saw it,' he admitted. 'Which makes no _sense_. How could it be there, if I didn't remember having it? Is it even _true_ , then? Has he killed –'

'Yes,' Snape said, interrupting him. 'It is almost certainly true. As to why it was necessary to retrieve it in such a way, I do not know entirely. I suspect, however, that your meagre form of Occlumency has been partly effective in keeping the worst of the effects from your consciousness. Whether that is because you are within the protections of Hogwarts or not… I do not know.'

Harry felt cold at the confession. Some of his anger was dwarfed by the swell of fear.

'But… then we have to _do_ something!' he insisted, fighting the restraining spell again in anxiety. 'We can't just – that man! Pettigrew and –'

'The man is beyond help,' Snape interrupted firmly. 'The Dark Lord will have made certain of it. And there is nothing we can do to track him either… there was nothing to hint at their location.'

'Come off it!' Harry said angrily. 'They're at the sea, aren't they? We could – I could –'

'This country is an island, Potter,' Snape spat impatiently. 'Surrounded by many thousands of smaller islands. The 'sea' could describe a location at any one of her shores. And _you_ are a mediocre wizard of thirteen years – you will do _nothing_ , because it is not your fight.'

' _Not my_ –' Harry began furiously.

But he had not even finished the phrase before Snape's dungeon door burst open. Both wizards whipped around – Harry half certain with wild fear that it would be Voldemort on the threshold.

But it was not.

Albus Dumbledore was framed in the doorway. He was still dressed for travel, a long cloak of deep purple over his robes. Despite the late hour of his return, however, Dumbledore looked anything but tired. His eyes were bright and alert, his face slightly paler than usual… and Harry could sense a lingering power in the magic about him that he recognised from the few times he had seen the headmaster truly furious. He shivered slightly, wondering who had felt Albus' wrath tonight.

Albus' gaze found him on the sofa at once. Perhaps it was the aftermath of Snape's recent Legilimency, or perhaps an effect of the headmaster's own strong magical aura tonight – but Harry felt those blue eyes pierce straight through him the instant they locked with his. Albus held the gaze for only a moment. But when he turned to the Potions Master, his own had gone hard as ice.

'Severus,' he greeted, his tone as cold as his gaze. 'What have you done?'

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Fifteen**

 **Wide Eyed and Curious** : Thanks for reviewing! Haha I'm glad I was able to appease! Ooh… Part I seems ages and ages ago – but I hope you enjoyed the re-read!

Bill is so much fun. I love getting to bring him in a bit more now. And Grindelwald… _dangerous_. Very, very dangerous. There's a really exciting scene this next chapter that I cannot wait to share – it's one I've been sitting on since Grindelwald's introduction way back in the first book. I hope you'll like it!

Thank you for the well wishes – I am (almost) fully back on my feet now, but definitely not an enjoyable past few weeks, with the double unpleasantness. James _should_ know better…

 **BlueWater5** : Thanks for your review! Glad you enjoyed the layout of the last chapter, and I hope you'll like Chapter Sixteen!

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for reviewing! Wow – so many good things to digest in this one. Haha, your comment on Hallowe'en made me laugh – I fully agree. It does tend to be more of a thing in the UK – and as we have Bonfire Night only a few days later (5 November), it tends to be a busy week. Though I must say, I have one sister in New York City, and it is a _way_ bigger deal there. I think she went to four Hallowe'en parties, in different fancy dress for each.

Anyway… the chapter. So I'm glad you enjoyed the piano scenes. Yes, Severus probably spends far too much time alone learning these different skills… lol. His wandless magic at eight, I will say, was limited to just this spell (though we can see from his winded response to using it why, perhaps, he recognised the signs in Harry back at the end of Part I). He is a bit of a Renaissance Man, I suppose. Ah, the _fleur-de-lis_. No coincidence, of course. I shall also point out that fleur-de-lis has a more archaic name as well: fleur-de-luce. The G minor reference to the _Ave Maria_ (and other works, obviously) were also quite deliberate: both the Christian symbolism and the call back to the Lady of the Lake.

I'm happy to hear you liked the way Lily and Severus are portrayed as children in this chapter. It is the first such flashback, I think… and I wanted to be true to their characters but not overdo it. The scene is full of symbolism and hints beyond the piano and song, of course… there are multiple references to Severus' abuse at home; a glimpse into Lily and Petunia's strained relationship, and – perhaps the bit I was most excited for – the appearance of the yew tree… from which Severus leaps to crouch behind Lily and which she then voluntarily swings from, oblivious to the roughness of its bark – which Severus later rubs carefully from her hands. It was fun to get to explore them as youngsters, even if rather briefly.

Ooh… now when – and how – will Harry find out about Snape's love for his mother? Well… it _will_ be earlier than canon – but more than that I cannot say. It won't be this chapter, however. That bombshell has been planned for over a year now – and though I can't _wait_ to share the chapter where it drops… there is some time yet to get there.

Interesting musings on Albus and Bill's scene – and quite correct. Oh, Albus is _furious_ with Gellert… and the information somewhat alters his dismissive view of Gellert's obvious own agenda as he previously brushes off in the early part of this scene. We'll see the fall-out from this next chapter. But the discussion is more notable for what is _not_ included than for what is. We have three characters – Gellert, Albus, Bill – who are in a tenuous alliance… but now, we can see that none is being wholly honest with the others. Bill openly questions some of Albus' actions and hints at things Gellert has said – yet he keeps a significant amount about what Gellert has let slip from Albus in this scene. Gellert, obviously, has secrets from both. And Albus, as is his wont, does not lie to Bill… but nor does he tell him everything. As Bill loses his rose-coloured spectacles, he begins – as Gellert predicted at their first meeting – to see the world in shades of grey, rather than black and white. He wants to trust Albus… but Albus himself has intimated that he is quite similar to Grindelwald, in some respects. Bill has a lot to work through.

Mmm… Harry is growing, when it comes to asking help from Snape, at least. It is still surprising – even to Harry, I think – but he has learned to listen to his elders, in some respect. And the knowledge of what befell Bertha Jorkins has effectively awoken Harry to the true seriousness of these dreams. Ah, and 'care' for Harry? I don't know… Severus would likely vehemently deny it – but yes, I think… at least subconsciously, he begins to have some concern for the boy.

Oh the Legilimency is a _very_ risky move – as Albus warned Severus about at the beginning of this book. Snape has always disagreed with Albus' reluctance to push this part of Harry's memory, seeing it as an overprotective streak that denies them the possibility of learning more of Voldemort's scheme… but Snape, unlike Albus, does not know about the Horcruxes – or indeed what this connection to Harry truly means. Thus, his action is dangerous for multiple reasons: the risk to Harry and the rest of the world, and the risk to Severus when Albus discovers what he has done. We'll see this unfold in the next instalment.

Hmm… interesting analysis of the Harry/Dursleys angle. On the one hand, you are definitely correct that this Harry has really become the 'Child of Hogwarts' – and, as he himself told Snape a few chapters ago, the Dursleys 'do not define' him anymore. On the other hand, Voldemort returning… will that prompt Albus to keep Harry at the castle, or will it just underlay the need to ensure the blood protections even more? Questions that will get answers, eventually… some which might be more complex than they initially seem.

Ah, the meaning of the oak tree. I 'planted' this one early on (excuse the terrible pun)… and it will become highly significant in the course of the larger story.

I hope you enjoy Chapter Sixteen!

 **MotherBear** : Thanks for reviewing – and signing! :) That was an exciting surprise. I'm glad you appreciated the Mundungus reveal. Quite right – nobody pays him much mind, but he hears quite a lot. Interesting musing on Gellert. I cannot, of course, confirm anything… except to say that we will find the identity of the poisoner revealed this book. And _yes_ – Snape is DEFINITELY going to be in some serious trouble for this one. I hope you enjoy the continuation!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for your review! I apologise for the evil ending, but I've kept this interlude quite short, so hopefully you will not be left in suspense too long! Enjoy Chapter Sixteen.

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing – and your words are quite true. As to the story… yes, things intensify these few chapters… I hope you enjoy!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for your review! Glad you enjoyed the scenes with young Severus and Lily in Chapter Fifteen. Harry's nightmare will be explored at the start of this next chapter… and, unfortunately, it is not a pretty scene. Dumbledore will indeed be back to the castle shortly – and he will not be pleased that Severus has taken matters into his own hands, against his explicit instruction. We'll see how it all works out… I hope you like it!

 **Feanor-Dutch** : Thank you for your reviews! Glad you have discovered the series. To answer your queries – I do consider magical cores canon, actually. Not the phrase 'magical core' mind you – but certainly the concept. I chose to use 'magical core' rather than 'magic' in order to delineate more easily the genetic concept of what makes a wizard a wizard, but the 'magical core' is not an organ like the heart or brain; it is part of a wizard's make up. I consider it to be my term for precisely how JKR has described the concept of a 'magical' person as opposed to a Muggle in multiple interviews, her view on power and the innate magic of a wizard affecting his/her ability to cast, brew, etc. (best put in her interview on the properties of Potions), magical exhaustion, and several other related topics. I easily could have stuck with just 'magic' instead… and perhaps avoided accusation of using a 'trope' lol… but I do find it is more understandable if given a separate denotation. I don't know how/if other writers may use the concept or if it jibes with my own stories, but it is certainly an ingrained part of the COH series and Harry's lessons and I shan't be changing it now. I hope you will ultimately enjoy where that portion of the series takes us.

As to the changes in Harry's life and their effect on the story and the characters – respectfully, I disagree. I have many times given my explanation on the 'vector' arc I intend in COH as an overall series, so I won't rehash it here (though you can certainly find it in many review responses, especially in the earlier books)… but I definitely think there have been effects on all of our characters and the overall story from Harry's changed circumstances – effects which continue to grow as the story moves forward. That said, I have always been quite upfront that this _is_ a canon-based series that will slowly alter with time. And this _is_ following the plot of the uprising of Voldemort, and the characterisations will be realistic in their responses to the situations and the changed circumstances. I suppose what I mean is – while Harry's placement at Hogwarts and closer relationship with some of the other characters will certainly affect the story, the events that are going on at the time which are _not_ linked directly to Harry, or would have happened anyway, still happen. Just as if I were to have say, married my neighbour instead of my husband… well, James' life story would be vastly different, and our daughters would not exist. Stilll, I'm fairly certain I would still have a similar career path, and I know my sisters' lives would be essentially the same, my mother-in-law would not have changed much, etc. The story changes – sometimes in monumental ways, and sometimes in very, very subtle ones.

On a related subject, you have made a few comments now on Harry and Snape. I find it a bit beguiling, however. First, I would definitely not call their relationship 'unevolved'. I actually think it has come a long, _long_ way from where it ever was in canon, and certainly since Part I of my series. That will continue to develop, but if you are looking for a Severitus type story, I can certainly promise you won't find that here. It isn't what I am writing with COH, and never has been. That story, I think, has been done and redone several hundred thousand times on this platform alone. That said, there _is_ a growing mentor-type relationship, and _that_ will certain continue to develop as the series moves forward… though it will never be anything like what Harry has with the headmaster. Harry and Snape are Harry and Snape, after all. And JKR has many, many times debunked the fan wishes that Snape is truly just a very good, wholesome person at heart with a secret soft spot for Harry. I think Harry in COH has had a deep effect on Snape and will continue to do so – and Snape's character will evolve with these changes. But it certainly will not be a quick fix, and it definitely will never lose the essential elements that make Snape who he is, no matter what mutual respect or otherwise might develop in future.

Hope you enjoy the next chapter!

 **Leonore** : Thank you for reviewing! Very glad you liked this chapter so much. It was very fun to write the past with Snape and Lily for once. Lily and Ariana both, to me, are among the most important characters in the series… yet dead the entire time. To be able to bring them to life even in reflection is a joy as writer. Glad you also enjoyed the interaction between Snape and Harry in this one – I was excited to share it. And yes… Snape is _definitely_ in trouble now; and so is Gellert. Read Chapter Sixteen and find out how!

 **Guest Review** : Thanks for your review! You are quite welcome for my previous response – it was nothing but true. I am sorry you weren't able to see Maggie this week-end, that is a huge disappointment!

As to Chapter Fifteen… mmm, yes – eagle has definitely been up to no good. Or, rather, her master has. Albus' confrontation with Gellert shan't be long in coming – so I will leave that here, for the moment. I do hope you'll enjoy it. As for Dung – well, he is in a right state, I would say. But he'll prove useful all the same.

Ah, Severus and Lily. Again, the trees. I don't know what my fascination with wood is lately, but once again – not coincidence. The two canon characters with known yew wands are of course Lord Voldemort and Ginny Weasley.

Yew, of course, is the wood most closely associated with death (when I speak of the yew I'm talking about English yew – sometimes called the European yew… though I do understand that there are other trees known by the name yew in other parts of the world). Yew is a strange tree. It is often used as shrubbery or in hedgerows, and therefore often small – way too small to be sat in. On the other hand, it can grow much, much larger given time and space – and there are yew trees throughout Europe that are around two thousand years old. Perhaps the most famous tree in Scotland (one of the most famous in all of Britain, though not as renowned as the Major Oak) is the Fortingall Yew in Perthshire, which sits in the local churchyard. Its age has been estimated anywhere from 1500 to 9000 years, though most experts put it about 2000-3000, and it has the largest recorded trunk girth in Britain. The legend among the locals of the village is that Pontius Pilate was born in its shade. The village and surrounding area actually has a storied history associated with everything from pagan cults in the Iron Age to massive cairns in the Bronze Age to elaborate Samhain celebrations… but that is a tale for another time.

In any case, the yew tree has a long association with death, and – because of its ability to achieve immense age, and its common use in churchyards – with resurrection. Both pagan and Christian religions have considered it a symbol of transcendence of death.

It is a highly toxic tree. Male yews are among the most highly allergenic trees – 10/10 on the allergy scale; while female yews, ironically, are hypoallergenic (1/10), because they collect the male pollen and take it out of the air while releasing none themselves. The pollen of the yew tree itself is considered cytotoxic, and can cause headaches, lethargy and rashes even in those without allergies. It is also unusually insidious for pollen – the grains are far smaller than normal, and can creep into houses through very tiny cracks and through most screens. Every part of the yew tree is poisonous to humans – the sap, the bark, the leaves and the even the berries (though the fruit is not toxic, the seeds inside are highly so). Most interestingly, the poison in the foliage actually increases as the leaves wilt – and it is most potent when dried (in other words, when dead).

Okay, so that's yew in general terms. So, this chapter… it appears first with Sev, of course, who is sitting in the yew tree. He leaps out of it to land unseen behind Lily, startling her. She later swings from it herself, seemingly without care for its rough bark. She lets go and swings to the ground, and Severus wipes the remnants carefully from her palms. I shall let you fill in the connections.

The willow, another interesting one. Lily Potter and Ron Weasley both owned willow wands. All species of willow are well-known for their healing properties, particularly their efficacy in reducing pain and fever – something for which the willow has been used for since ancient times in both Europe in in Native American traditions. The sap from its bark was used to create aspirin. In many cultures, there are stories of wise willows from whom answers or guidance might be sought. Hans Christian Anderson wrote one such story, and there are several Japanese ghost stories in which the dead person has a connection with the willow. The 'Hollow Willow' is a Czech term for a person in whom it is safe to confide secrets. Japanese and Chinese culture heavily associate the willow with ghosts – and, in Japanese tradition, one is said to be able to see ghosts where a willow grows. Chinese tradition advises placing willow branches above front doors or gates to ward off evil spirits, particularly on Qingming. The Chinese goddess of mercy, Guanyin, is often depicted with a willow branch in water, which she uses to fight off demons.

In English folklore, meanwhile, the willow is actually quite sinister. Superstition stated that willows could uproot themselves and follow travellers, especially those who had lost their way. The white willow – the willow native to Britain (as weeping willows, though common here, are actually a hybrid species that crossed with the Chinese willow, and most other willow species commonly seen are also hybrid crosses) – is a fast growing tree, but notoriously short-lived, particularly as it is susceptible to many diseases. JKR has noted willow to be a wand wood that seeks out those with incredible potential, though they often do not know their skill and may be insecure. The wood is noted for its healing properties, and its ability for advanced nonverbal magic. It is considered a beautiful wood.

Ah, apologies. That was a longer explanation than I had intended… but I have indulged by private fascination long enough. Snape's wand, interestingly, is made of ebony. I think I let this slip in Chapter 27 of Part I… though I have not yet explained its properties ;).

On to the rest of your comments. Music – interesting suggestion about its possible uses… we shall see. That Lily sang the song to Harry is curious – because, of course, this would have been long after she stopped speaking to Severus. To Harry, the song is a connection to his mother and the childhood he never had; it is comforting; eerie, but peaceful – like phoenix song. To Snape, though it was beautiful at the time of its composition, now it is tragic and heart-breaking. But such is the nature of music – it evokes different emotion and different reaction from every listener.

Oh, now I'm glad you've asked about the doors. It is indeed related to his ability to attune – or to sense – magic. Different magics and different spells produce different effects, and are thus 'sensed' in different ways. Dumbledore will explain this more fully, but I'll give a brief one here. In essence, those doors were warded – Harry could see a sort of haze about them – though, of course, he was staring intently at them in hopes that Dumbledore would walk through; it was likely not something he would have noticed in a casual stroll by. This is related to attuning but is a bit different…. Mainly, Harry's heightened awareness in that moment and his own natural inclination for attuning to magic led him to realise that the doors were enchanted – and see the evidence of such enchantment – but warding doors in such a way _always_ leaves this visible trace because of the nature of the spell… it's just that not everyone knows what to look for. In his wandless magic, Snape's instruction was to 'feel' for the magic itself, so that he could manipulate it. Though Harry couldn't see the spell, he could sense it all the same. Magical auras, on the other hand, aren't active spells – they are the essence of the magic of an individual; the 'imprint', I suppose, of their magical core. A great wizard capable of attuning to magic would be able to sense this aura not only in a person, but present in other magics that that person had cast (e.g., Dumbledore in the cave is able in part to locate the boat not because he is seeking magic itself, but because he taught Tom Riddle and recognises his magical signature). Albus, of course, is quite adept at attuning to magic. He is able to sense Lily's pregnancy because he can immediately sense the presence of two magical auras… and his prowess in this field is such that he is also able to tell the second is male, though of course Lily herself does not even know that yet. It is possible to disguise one's magical aura – though it is very difficult. However, that disguise would work to disguise one's aura if one were just standing in a room… but not necessarily if one were to cast a spell. It is similar to how Polyjuice Potion works to disguise one's outward appearance, but it cannot alter one's Patronus to fit the disguise. I know that is vague and confusing – I promise it will be clearer later.

As to the fall out from the Legilimency… well, that shall be evident in chapter seventeen particularly. I hope you enjoy it!


	17. Narrow is the Way

**A/N:** Chapter Seventeen! Another high-intensity read, I must warn. We'll have a bit of a lighter time in the next instalment – I promise. I know I have said we're about to reach Harry's birthday several times now… but, for real, it is coming in the next instalment. That one is actually fully written already – and I hope to have it out in just a day or two.

In the meantime… enjoy!

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 **NARROW IS THE WAY**

Severus froze at the headmaster's entrance. His voice cut the air like lightning through a silent night.

'Severus,' he greeted simply; the word deadly low with fury. 'What have you done?'

If Severus had been a lesser man, he was sure he would have fallen to his knees. As it was, the cold demand sent chills through his very soul. He felt irrationally panicked. It was not the scolding he could sense in the making, though he had known from the moment he had gambled in legilimising the boy that it would be one for the ages. It was not that he feared for his well-being, precisely, though he was fairly certain that it was in imminent danger.

It was the look in Albus' eyes as he said it.

This was not the mild disapproval the Potions Master had grown rather used to; nor even the harsher position Dumbledore had adopted a time or two before, when Severus had tried his patience with their differing opinions on Harry Potter. This was deeper. Albus' very being seemed to thrum with power and anger. And his eyes – sapphires burning into obsidian – were full of something Severus had not felt from this man in thirteen years…

Not since that windswept day on the hilltop, when he had prostrated himself in a desperate heap at the headmaster's knees, at the beginning of the end of all things.

It was not disappointment, or shock. It was not even truly anger.

It was utter contempt.

Severus could not bring himself to beg in front of the boy… but nor could he stand the intensity of Albus' gaze – shrinking him as it was to a speck upon the floor. Potter seemed momentarily frozen in his own awe at the headmaster's appearance, and the Potions Master moved quickly to define the narrative before the boy recovered his hot temper.

'Headmaster,' Severus said, bowing his head. 'Potter had a… a nightmare, while you were engaged this evening. He awoke with pain in his scar.'

Silence. Potter had gone rather white on the sofa, his green eyes fixed on Dumbledore. He did not speak.

But after a moment, Albus did.

'That was not my question, Severus,' he said coldly.

Severus swallowed hard. 'He could not recall the dream,' he explained, heartbeat kicking up in his chest as he fought to keep his voice steady and his palms dry. 'He needed certain… assistance, to access the memory.'

Silence again. Potter squirmed on the sofa this time – but still, he did not interrupt.

'I see,' Dumbledore said quietly after a moment. 'And you provided that assistance, did you Severus?'

'I –' Severus swallowed hard again. 'I merely –'

Before he could stammer out his response, something caught in his throat. The words lodged behind it, as though an invisible hand were clenching his larynx. Severus raised a hand to his neck in some shock and no small amount of fear… but though he could not seem to speak, his breathing was unaffected.

'You attacked his mind,' Albus continued in that same, dangerous tone. 'Against my explicit instruction and knowing my opinion on the matter.'

He took two steps into the room. He had no wand pointed; no hand outstretched. But the commanding magic that emanated from his very being seemed to grow as he stalked closer to the sitting area. On the sofa, Potter drew his feet up and quivered.

Two more steps.

'You abused your position,' the headmaster accused, 'And my trust.'

Severus could not speak. He willed himself not to retreat from the advance, his face as mask-like as he could keep it. Albus' eyes bore into his own – but as he reached the carpet, he turned their gaze on the boy.

Potter still shook on the sofa as Dumbledore knelt before him.

'You have a headache,' the headmaster observed, his tone entirely gentled.

Potter nodded once, as silent as Severus now stood – though the Potions Master was nearly certain that Albus had not spelled the boy so.

'Do you feel otherwise ill?' he asked.

Potter shook his head. Albus cupped the boy's face carefully in an aged hand. He looked closely at his eyes for a few long moments. Potter did not speak, but nor did he break the gaze.

'Come,' Albus directed softly.

He rose from the floor, pulling the boy with him by the elbow. The spell that had latched Potter to the seat appeared to have succumbed to Dumbledore's rage, just as its master had done.

Through the still open door, Fawkes suddenly swept into the room. He was not singing tonight. He glided through the air like a scarlet and gold wraith – his silence perhaps more ominous than anything yet.

Dumbledore turned to Severus. 'I shall return in twenty minutes' time,' he warned.

He grasped the boy round the shoulder and the phoenix by the tail. In a flash of fire, they had gone –

Leaving Severus to crumple on the floor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _'You cannot bring strangers into the house!' Aberforth ranted, just as the door to the little cottage closed behind Gellert's golden head._

 _Three days had passed since Ms Grant's arrival… and for three days, Albus had been glued to her bedside in the cellar space he and Grindelwald had converted: first to a laboratory, and next to a hospital. Three days he had spent, wondering if it would soon become a mortuary. Three days he had worn his fingers to the bone, tested magic in ways he had not known it could bend; gouged nail marks in his face and developed circles under his eyes that deepened with each passing hour. He had subsisted on a diet of Invigoration Draught – rarely daring to abandon his vigil for an hour's rest; scarcely willing to allow even Gellert to take his place at the head of the effort. He had only four times poked his head into the ground floor – and each time only for moments. Aberforth had glowered, and spoken very little. Ariana – the one time he had seen her – had merely stared._

 _Three days…_

 _Only now had their watch finally ended._

 _Gellert was gone – drifting off through the door into the scarlet of the setting sun. Home to sleep, Albus assumed. They were both utterly spent. He wondered that Bathilda had not called round to check where her nephew had got to… perhaps he had sent a message, in the many timeless minutes when Albus was distracted._

 _Albus saw him out and turned wearily for the staircase that would take him to his own glorious mattress – only to find Aberforth blocking the way, arms crossed and eyes blazing. From his expression, Albus knew he had watched the parting._

 _'Aberforth,' Albus sighed in exhaustion._

 _'You cannot bring strangers into the house!' Aberforth repeated. 'I saw her arrive, Albus… I know_ _she was here these past three days, whatever locking charm you've spelled that door with._ He _is bad enough…'_

 _'She was Muggle,' Albus pointed out tiredly. 'And she did not –'_

 _'All the worse,' his brother insisted angrily. 'You endangered both our sister and our kind, Albus. What if she'd come upstairs, eh? And what were you doing with her – shut away down there…'_

 _'Nothing that need concern you,' Albus said quickly._

 _Aberforth's gaze darkened. He sneered. 'Oh, I think it does,' he disagreed. 'One of that German's mad ideas, was it? I hear him going on, you know… the way he talks of greatness and grandeur. Two goblins in a mine, aren't you – hashing out your treasure trove. Have you gone the next step, Albus? Involving hapless Muggles in your schemes and your plots? How long will it be before he proves too much for you? And how far are you willing to go, before that day arrives?'_

 _'You do not know of what you speak,' Albus said. He could feel his ire growing at the mocking tone._

 _'Don't I?' Aberforth challenged, teeth gritted. 'Or is it, rather that you would prefer I did not_ speak _of what I know? You forget your responsibilities, Albus. Three_ days _you were shut up down there… neglecting her – as you always have done –'_

 _'I forget_ nothing _,' Albus retorted, voice rising. 'It is for the benefit of_ everyone _, Aberforth. This is for the world, what we're doing – Ariana more than most. You think it's_ easy _, do you? Shouldering the weight of such –'_

 _'I think it's_ evil _, Albus!' Aberforth shouted furiously. 'You think it will_ help _her, this time you spend with_ him _? It does not! You think she does not notice your absence? The tension in your face when you rarely deign to show it? You think she can not hear the screaming beneath her feet?! She is not a fool, Albus…'_

 _Aberforth trailed off, coughing softly into his arm. Up close, under the anger, Albus thought he looked nearly as exhausted as he himself felt. Even through his own fury, he felt a jolt of concern._

 _'Are you alright?' he asked, ignoring the accusations._

 _Aberforth glared. He did not answer._

 _'She'll be fourteen in two days' time,' he reminded Albus. 'She grows stronger – and_ it _grows stronger with her, Albus. While you busy yourself brewing glory and chasing the gilded dreams of madmen,_ I _keep her together.'_

 _'Don't…'_

 _'It is for the benefit of everyone,' Albus repeated with an irritated sigh. 'For all our sakes, Aberforth. You do not see –'_

 _'No, Albus, it is_ you _who cannot see!' Aberforth shouted. 'You spend your days with your head in the clouds. And meanwhile, she is dying!'_

 _'Don't…'_

 _The voice was so soft behind the door to the sitting room, Albus did not even think Aberforth had heard. But the candlelight flickered at the second plea. Albus watched the dancing flames with trepidation._

 _'You are over-tired,' Albus said, determined to keep his own voice level and defuse the growing heat of the conversation. 'I do apologise for my distraction of late – as, clearly, it has distressed you. I can take care of things this evening. Why don't you go and have a lie –'_

 _Aberforth's face went from pale to ruddy faster even than Albus could get the words out. His brother whipped out his wand, hissing angrily across him._

 _'Don't you tell me what to do, you arrogant little –'_

 _The house gave an almighty groan, as though her foundations themselves protested the argument. In a whoosh of frigid air, the lights along the corridor and staircase were extinguished._

 _'Aberforth, you fool,' Albus cursed in an undertone, pulling his own wand in the darkness._

 _'_ ME _?' his brother roared – beyond reason – but Albus hushed him with a pointed elbow to the ribs._

 _Behind the door to the sitting room, where he knew Ariana had heard the last of their squabbling, he could hear her whimpering. He flicked a spell to rekindle the candles, but the lanterns remained decidedly barren._

 _'What did I tell you?' Aberforth hissed in his ear. 'Every day, Albus… this threatens to consume her. Yet still you –'_

 _'Stop,' Albus commanded. 'She cannot take it…'_

 _He moved at a snail's pace toward the closed door. Aberforth, however, spun him by the arm._

 _'Don't you lecture me about her,' he spat. '_ I'm _the one who understands, Albus. I'm the one who's been here –'_

 _The whimpering cut off. In its stead, a frenzied rumbling was gathering strength – vibrating the very floorboards. Albus knew disaster was only moments away. He seized his brother's shoulder._

 _'Don't you understand?' he whispered urgently. 'It's_ us _– we're setting her off. It doesn't matter who's right, Aberforth. If we do not stop…'_

 _But the words were too late. With an almighty crash, the sitting room door was blown apart. Their sister lay crouched in its gaping hole – barely visible as she rocked back and forth on her heels; her body surrounded by a furious swirl of gathering blackness._

 _Aberforth pulled Albus against the wall, out of the way of the flying shards of wood. He moved forward as if to calm her, but the Obscurus only grew in strength. It's raging storm sent the looking glass off the wall to fly at his brother's face, and Albus shot a hurried spell to yank him from its path._

 _'You cannot,' he gasped out, winded where Aberforth's heavy figure had collided painfully with his ribcage. 'It was our argument that started this. It will react badly to either one of us.'_

 _'What do you suggest?' Aberforth spat, gathering himself on his feet. '_ Someone _needs to talk her round…'_

 _'The tears,' Albus reminded him. 'The phoenix tears…'_

 _Hope bloomed in Aberforth's expression. 'Go on then!' he agreed excitedly._

 _But Albus shook his head. 'They're downstairs,' he explained. 'In the cellar. One of us will have to–'_

 _He cut himself off again, ducking as the monster sent half the bannister flying in its quest for destruction. Albus and Aberforth scuttled toward the front room on their knees, wands trained on the creature as it flew about the ceiling – at war with its human host._

 _'I'll stay,' Albus decided, helping his brother to stand as they reached temporary harbour. He pushed back his sleeves._

 _'But –' Aberforth began, frowning._

 _'I have a better chance of controlling it,' Albus insisted. 'I can keep it from the cellar door, and contain it until you return. The phial is on the smallest table, in the far left-hand corner of the room. Go – quickly. And touch nothing else, Aberforth. It is dangerous.'_

 _His brother asked no questions. He tore for the door at once, slipping through without the creature's notice. Albus did not dare to use magic on his sister – not until he had to… but he spelled the rooms with as many protection charms as he could manage in the intervening minute until Aberforth returned._

 _When he did, his face had gone ashen. He was so long at the top of the stairs, Albus shouted._

 _'Aberforth – now!'_

 _His brother shook himself slightly, a look of renewed horror coming over him as he came to. Careening around the creature again, he slid into the side room beside Albus like a cricketer._

 _Albus wrenched the phial from his hands. Popping the stopper with his thumb, he launched himself in front of the Obscurus, feeling the weight of its magic as it focused on the wizard so unwisely set in its path…_

 _But Albus knew, this time, it would work. He spelled the contents free and into the writhing form at the creature's centre. It took the entirety of the phial's remaining tears. At last, however, the frenzy faded; the darkness melted away like mist upon a moor… and their sister lay still and quiet – as pale in sleep as though Death had already come._

 _Albus let his wand hand fall. His heart still hammered in his chest. He was trembling head to toe, his palms sweaty and his mouth salivating as though his body were toying with the idea of vomiting. He bent to collect the stopper, and dropped entirely to his knees – breathing through the crash of adrenaline._

 _'It's over?' Aberforth asked, coming around the corner. He paid Albus no mind, bending over Ariana's still form._

 _Albus brushed his auburn hair behind his ears. His stomach was settling – but the fear was not much abated._

 _'For now,' he agreed. He pushed himself to his feet, relieved to find they were steady. 'I should take her upstairs.'_

 _'I can do it,' Aberforth said at once._

 _'Aberforth…' Albus began, but the protest was half-hearted. He could not bring himself to argue again – not when the proof of its damage lay limp upon the floor. They did not need dissention. In truth, he suspected all three needed sleep._

 _He sighed instead. 'You should get some rest yourself,' he said quietly._

 _Aberforth did not reply. He slid his arms beneath their sister, scooping her up against his chest. Albus repaired the staircase for their ascent with a wave of his wand. When Aberforth turned, however, his gaze was steely._

 _'Three days…' Aberforth repeated. 'Three days we heard that Muggle, Albus. The pain; the way she shouted through the night.'_

 _His voice, in deference to Ariana, was not outwardly angry, but Albus knew the flat tone was merely a guise. He winced. 'It was a terrible process,' he agreed. 'But she knew the risks when she arrived. I did not force her.'_

 _'I saw the room, Albus,' Aberforth said darkly. He shifted Ariana in his arms as he spoke, so that her head was nestled in the crook between his neck and shoulder. Albus suspected he was using her presence to force himself to remain calm. 'I_ saw _the room – where you and Grindelwald have been closeted away with her…'_

 _Albus did not look away. 'It is not what it appears, Aberforth,' he said. 'I did not yet have a chance to tidy. But I can tell you –'_

 _'I do not care to know,' Aberforth said firmly._

 _He turned toward the staircase, teetering slightly under his burden as he began the climb. Albus wished he could cast a charm to lighten the load, yet the potential consequences were too great a danger to risk._

 _'But I do hope you are telling the truth,' Aberforth continued, pausing to glare down from the turn at the landing. 'Because from what I saw, Albus… that room might have been a slaughterhouse.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fawkes brought them straight into Harry's own bedchamber. Harry was vaguely surprised to find it dark – the time spent so many floors below seemed to have lasted an eternity.

Albus still emanated that heady, terrifying power. Harry shivered in its spell. It was an odd feeling. The headmaster's magic had become the most comforting sensation in the world to him; a balm that could soothe even the worst of his panic. It was a steadfast protection. It was love. But tonight…. This was a different sort of magic; an aura Harry knew now he had only ever appreciated the edges of before. It was a towering, terrible power…

And Harry felt about three, frightened in its storm.

'I – I'm sorry, sir,' he apologised, when Dumbledore at last released his shoulder while Fawkes alighted on the top of the wardrobe.

Albus, who had been sweeping wordlessly toward the door, turned back with a furrowed brow. 'Whatever are you apologising for, child?'

Harry frowned. 'I couldn't keep my mind protected,' he said. 'I couldn't keep the dream out. And then I couldn't stop him either, when Snape did that – when he used Legilimency on me…'

For a moment, the air in the room trembled with the weight of Albus' fury yet again. Harry stammered into silence. From his perch on the wardrobe, Fawkes let out one long, beautiful note.

Albus turned to face the bird. Behind his spectacles, his eyes closed. Harry watched him take a slow, deep breath – and the storm at last seemed to vanish. When the headmaster reopened his eyes, their expression was as serene as ever.

'Harry,' he said, coming to rest a soft hand on his shoulder again. 'None of this was your fault. You acted tonight precisely as I myself instructed. And I do apologise… I have had a trying evening, but I am not angry with _you_.'

Harry, still nervous in the wake of Albus' temper, just nodded mutely.

Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder once. 'Get into bed,' he suggested. 'I shall be just a few moments.'

He left. Fawkes remained behind – watching Harry with benign interest as he readied himself for sleep again. Harry sighed. He popped into the loo for a moment. He shrugged off his dressing gown, tossing it back toward the chair he'd removed it from hours before. It was only after he'd sunk onto the mattress and bent to remove his socks that he remembered:

They were not his.

The socks were grey. A dark grey, with whitish patches on the toes and heels… though they were so large for Harry that the heel patch sat well up on his calf. The wool was thick and slightly itchy – but uncommonly snug. The chill he remembered of the icy dungeon floor had faded entirely in their grasp. He pulled them off and ran his fingers over the still-warm fabric. For some reason, the socks made him feel rather odd.

He was still holding them when Dumbledore re-entered the room.

'Harry?' Albus asked softly. He came slowly round the bed, setting a small phial of a deep purple potion that Harry recognised well onto his bedside table. He looked down at the socks in Harry's hands.

'Are you really going back to see Snape?' Harry asked, folding the socks carefully into each other.

Albus was wearing a peculiar expression. 'Oh yes,' he said with certainty. 'As soon as I have seen you settled.'

Harry nodded. He held out the woollen bundle. 'Could you take these back, then? They're his, I think. Or at least… he made them.'

Dumbledore took the socks, studying Harry curiously. 'You know my feelings on a good pair,' he quipped, smiling slightly for the first time that evening.

Harry gave a tentative return. 'I thought you told me that wasn't really what you saw?' he reminded him.

Albus' smiled seemed to fix a fraction. 'It is not,' he admitted quietly, brushing a thumb along the paired-up toes. 'But that does not mean the sentiments were untrue.'

He put the socks into a pocket of the travelling cloak he still wore around his shoulders.

'Lie back,' he suggested quietly. 'And slide over.'

Harry obeyed, making room alongside him. Albus sat on the edge of the mattress rather than his usual chair, so that he and Harry were face to face. He smoothed the sheets over Harry's chest almost absentmindedly.

'He killed someone else tonight,' Harry said when the headmaster's hands had stilled. 'Somewhere here, in Britain.'

Albus nodded. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'I could see that the moment I entered.'

Harry scowled. 'Is my Occlumency _that_ bad?' he asked mulishly.

'No,' Albus disagreed with a ghost of his usual twinkle. 'My Legilimency is simply that good.'

Harry knew it was meant for a joke, but he did not lose his cantankerous mood. Albus sighed.

'I should not jest,' he apologised. 'But when you are highly agitated – as you were in the dungeon – that which has upset you tends to be at the surface of your thoughts. I was not seeking to unearth it. Indeed, I did not perform Legilimency at all. But you had not yet recovered from Severus' spell, and I know your mind well, Harry.'

Harry sighed, shifting against the pillows. 'Snape thinks it's bad,' he revealed. 'My Occlumency. He told me he wanted to test it – right before he did.'

'He should not have done so,' Albus said. The terrible anger that had ruled the room did not resurface, but Harry could hear its echo in the headmaster's voice. 'What happened was no fault of your own, Harry. You have done well with Occlumency in very little time of study. And what Lord Voldemort does in his cruelty does not rest on your shoulders, whether you bear witness to it or not.'

'I know,' Harry agreed, frowning. 'But it doesn't make it easier. He's _here_ now… and somewhere, another man is dying. And I'm sat here –'

'Where you belong,' Albus cut in firmly. 'There is no chance of helping that man now, Harry. He was lost the moment that Voldemort crossed his path.'

'Why couldn't I see it?' Harry demanded. 'It was in my head the whole time… but I didn't wake up ill, like had been happening before. I didn't remember _anything_ , before Snape brought it back.'

'I cannot be sure,' Albus said carefully. 'I suspect that your own Occlumency has aided in closing your mind – at least in part – to these nightmares. You are growing more proficient every night. I also expect that the castle plays her role. You are under her protection, Harry – you perhaps more than any other student has ever been – and Hogwarts guards her children.'

'What do you mean?' Harry asked, frowning. 'Guards us how?'

'There are many wards on Hogwarts castle, Harry,' the headmaster explained. 'Some of my own, of course – but many that predate my tenure; some which stretch as far back as the castle's very foundation. The school is alive with magic in a way few buildings ever come to be. It was created to serve as a home for Wizarding children as much as an educational institute – and to protect its charges.'

'I don't understand,' said Harry, his brow still furrowed.

Albus sighed. 'I shall explain it to you, someday,' he promised. 'The hour is far too late tonight. But whether by your own power or the aide of the school, I am equally grateful that the dreams have become shrouded. It is unwise to let these nightmares continue if we can help it, as I have already explained. And quite separate from the potential implications of such a connection, you should not be forced to see such things.'

A sudden thought crossed Harry's mind, and he pushed himself half upright in the bed. 'Do you think there's _more_?' he asked, a bit louder than he'd intended. 'Other visions, I mean? Other times that Voldemort has… and I just don't re–'

'No,' said Albus, stilling Harry's agitation in its tracks. 'I do not. That you had any reaction tonight suggests the dreams are still affecting you, on some level. Had you had others, we would have known.'

But this did not entirely put Harry's mind at ease.

'That doesn't mean there aren't other _people_ though,' he pointed out. 'Others he's killed, or had killed… other Berthas; other men in the boat…'

'No, it does not,' Albus admitted with a sigh. 'But Harry – you are not responsible for the crimes of Tom Riddle. Nor is it your duty to discover them. I will not have you blaming yourself for every move he makes.'

'But what about him?' Harry pressed. The panic that had been temporarily doused by Albus' unexpected arrival was gathering in his chest again, no matter Albus' attempts to assuage him. 'What about _Voldemort_?'

'All in good time,' Albus promised. He pressed a hand to Harry's chest, forcing him back into the pillows. 'I assure you – I will be doing everything in my power to trace both Pettigrew and Tom Riddle, and to prevent his return to power.'

'But you can't,' Harry said bitterly. 'In the end… that's what Trelawney said, wasn't it? The servant would return… and with his help, Voldemort would rise again – even worse than he was before.'

Harry felt a tingling where the headmaster's hand was still pressed against his chest. It was a soft, mild feeling… but Harry could tell it was some sort of magical influence all the same. Some of the tension in his muscles seemed to relax.

'It is possible,' Albus agreed gently. 'Even when good men do all in their power, evil sometimes has its day. But it is only when good men do nothing that all is lost. Sybill's prophecy is not the final word, Harry. The fight moves on – as it has done since the dawn of time. As it shall continue to the end of days.'

Harry scowled his frustration, though he no longer felt he had the energy to sit up. 'You do know that you're making my headache worse, don't you?' he muttered.

Albus gave a light chuckle. 'Which reminds me…'

He leaned over to pull the phial of Dreamless Sleep from the table.

'There will be time to talk again on the morrow. Right now, I want you to take this, and get some sleep,' the headmaster said firmly. 'It is already nearing dawn, but I shall ensure your morning lessons are postponed.'

The twinkle in his eyes told Harry that the headmaster expected an argument. But tonight, Harry did not give it.

He did, however, consider the headmaster's travelling cloak again.

'Are you going back out?' he asked, trying to make the query sound casual.

Albus shook his head with a small smile. 'I shall be making a visit downstairs,' he said. 'But I will not take long. If you need me – you shall find me just down the corridor.'

Harry nodded, and took the phial from Dumbledore's hand. He downed the potion with one long swallow.

Dumbledore pushed off the bed and brushed a hand through Harry's fringe as his eyes drooped – the magic in the touch familiar and soothing once more. Harry blinked them heavily, watching as the headmaster approached the wardrobe on his exit, where Fawkes still stood sentry on the corner.

Even as his mind began to drift toward darkness, Harry thought he heard Albus whisper to the bird… but the words were too quiet, or his mind too close to the edge of oblivion… and Harry could discern no more.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was twenty-three minutes before Albus returned.

Severus had pulled himself off the floor by then. He had returned the empty potion phials to the bathroom, and closed the piano's ancient keys. He had tidied the sofa from Potter's collapse. He had changed from his shabby old nightshirt back into his usual black robes – the many layers of familiar fabric and buttons making him feel somehow more protected; as though he were donning battle armour. He splashed water over his face. He even ran a comb through his lank hair.

But nothing eased the feeling that Dumbledore's fury had left.

The headmaster appeared in the Floo without announcement. He still wore his long travelling cloak, and, under his arm, he held his stone Pensieve.

Dumbledore set the basin carefully onto the low table in the sitting area. Only then did his eyes meet Severus'. The room no longer sung with his anger, but the gaze he levelled was just as devoid of pity as it had been twenty-three minutes before.

'Have you lost your mind, Severus?' Albus asked harshly. 'I would not have taken you for a man to act without caution or foresight. Yet what you did tonight was inexcusable.'

'Headmaster,' Severus tried softly. 'I saw no choice. Potter could not recall the dream…'

'And so you should have left it,' Albus finished for him. 'Or sent for me at once.'

'I did not think you wished to be disturbed by the boy's –'

'You may fully assume I shall _always_ wish to be disturbed if Harry is in distress,' the headmaster said firmly.

Severus scowled despite himself. 'I did what I thought was best,' he retorted with a bit more of an edge. 'I secured the knowledge the boy –'

'You did what you wished to do, and cared not that in doing so you disobeyed me,' Albus returned icily. 'You violated his mind in direct contradiction to my instruction.'

'I had to make a choice!' Severus insisted. 'I was the only one in a position to–'

'And that is _precisely_ the issue, Severus!' Albus cut across him, his voice growing powerful once more as he pointed a finger at Severus. 'You made the wrong choice, in a decision that was never _yours_ to make. You did not do so for lack of option. You did it because you were curious. You have been wishing to perform such Legilimency since the night we retrieved Harry from Privet Drive. We have wrestled the issue on multiple occasions, Severus.'

'I… it was not –'

'It was,' Albus disagreed. 'You did not agree with my decision, and so you pressed an opportunity to make your own in its stead. You put Harry – and all of us, by extension – in serious peril tonight. Had Lord Voldemort recognised the intrusion; or had you awoken the connection between them…'

Severus did his best to suppress his shudder at the name. 'The Dark Lord was not in Potter's mind,' he dismissed, though with less conviction than he'd meant to. His own thoughts wandered again to that strange sensation: the shadow of an essence of the Dark Lord's mind that he could feel within Potter's.

Albus watched him closely. Severus knew – though his own mind was expertly Occluded – that Albus was fully aware of his thoughts all the same.

'The connection is unique, and it is highly dangerous,' he reiterated, as he had told Severus weeks before. 'To trifle with it is a fool's risk, Severus – even for those most skilled in the Mind Magics. I have explained my position before. I will not explain it again.'

'No, headmaster,' Severus said, though begrudgingly.

Albus ran a hand along the etched edge of the Pensieve.

'Put it here,' he commanded.

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'The dream?' he clarified. 'I was under the impression you had already heard of its contents.'

'I gleaned the general picture,' Albus agreed. 'But I would not ask Harry to recount the details. As _you_ saw fit to retrieve them yourself, it is your memory I will require. Now, if you would. I am quite weary of this day as it is.'

Severus stepped forward obligingly, lifting the tip of his wand to his right temple. The memory came forward easily – it was all he could think about. He felt immeasurably lighter as he deposited the strand into the stone basin. It curled and expanded, filling the hollow space. Taken as it was from another's mind before his, the memory seemed whiter – brighter – than the usual silvery glow.

Its light illuminated Albus' face – still stern as he stared across the Pensieve at the Potions Master.

'Come, then,' he commanded, gesturing Severus to initiate.

Severus bent obediently over the surface.

He could not decide if the second viewing was better or worse than the first. On one hand, there was no tax on his magic this time, and he knew the horrors that awaited him. On the other, he did not have his own effort to distract him this time… and he knew the horrors that awaited him.

The headmaster said nothing at all. Severus watched him closely – trying to read his expression. He thought he saw a shadow cross the old man's eyes as the cavern darkened around the Dark Lord and his pet… but otherwise, Albus was stoic as ever.

It took longer than he remembered for the stream of consciousness to end. Severus winced as at last it concluded. Potter's pain could not be felt in the recollection as it had weighed on Severus in the moment; but the thunder in Albus' face told him that the headmaster could read the past in the memory's quality all the same.

Their two sets of feet slammed into the dungeon floor at precisely the same time. Severus waited for the headmaster to speak first. Albus swept away from the Pensieve, the hem of his cloak trailing along the carpet as he paced. Severus noted it was damp, though the night – to his knowledge – had not been a wet one. He wondered where the headmaster had called tonight… and why he had not bothered with a drying spell.

'Sit,' Dumbledore said. It was not a suggestion.

Severus sat – feeling rather as though he was fourteen again himself, preparing for a lecture from an irritated professor.

Dumbledore's voice was low as he turned at the hearth. 'Do you understand now, Severus?' he asked quietly. 'Do you see the danger?'

Severus frowned. 'I see that it causes him pain,' he admitted, grimacing. 'Legilimency is never easy for the victim… but, in Potter's case, it seems to leave him unusually affected. This is the second time I have seen him collapse under such circumstances.'

'And both involved these dreams,' Albus pressed. 'Yet in dozens of Occlumency lessons with me – he has rarely lost consciousness, and never suffered the intensity of pain you put him through tonight.'

Severus swallowed uncomfortably. 'You have a completely different style, headmaster,' he reminded Dumbledore. 'Potter _should_ be exposed to less… gentle ministration. The Dark Lord is not –'

'But even under _your_ brand of magic, Severus, Harry has come through without such a reaction,' Albus pointed out over the objection. 'Or do you not recall the events of Edinburgh?'

'A completely different scenario,' Severus dismissed impatiently. 'A necessity born out of trauma, headmaster. I took great pains to ensure Potter did not fight me on that occasion – it was hardly the –'

'Interesting,' Albus interrupted, his eyes flashing dangerously. 'But not, I think, the ultimate point. It was not solely _how_ you framed your invasion, Severus, but what you sought within Harry's mind. You disturbed the connection with your presence and your probing. _That_ is what caused such agony – and that is the inherent danger I have been seeking to prevent.'

Severus ground his teeth. 'And what of the vision, headmaster?' he demanded. 'What of what I _did_ unearth, in this shrouded portion of Potter's memory?'

'Not nearly as threatening as the act of its retrieval,' Albus insisted. 'And on the whole, Severus, hardly news. Voldemort, it would seem, has made it back to Britain – as of course we knew he would.'

'He has a body!' Severus pointed out. 'A crude form, but a form none the less, Dumbledore. He killed Bertha Jorkins with his own hand – with his own wand. He appeared to be performing a spell on the snake…'

'And we knew he must have done,' Albus reminded him – though Severus did not miss the stiffening of his shoulders. 'For Harry had already relayed what he remembered of that occurrence. There are several old magics which might have allowed him to take form – with the assistance, of course, of another. I doubt I have need to explain the specifics.'

Severus scowled darkly. 'You do not,' he muttered.

'It will not be a very stable form… but it does allow him use of a wand,' Albus continued.

'And what now?' Severus asked. 'What next?'

'Tonight changes nothing,' Albus said firmly. 'Not in the larger picture. We have no way to trace Voldemort's current whereabouts – and I do not believe his latest victim might be helped. The potion was quite fatal at the dosage Pettigrew administered.'

Severus raised an eyebrow in honest surprise.

Albus Dumbledore was a very great wizard. His knowledge of magic far exceeded Severus' own; that he knew. But Severus was one of the most gifted Potioneers in decades… and this apparent failure of his own talent unnerved him.

'You recognised it?' he asked. 'How? Even I could not. Not in the lighting and quality of the memory, at least; and my knowledge of poison is rather extensive.'

'Oh yes, I recognised it,' Albus said quietly, his gaze on the swirling memory again. 'It will take some hours… but there is no escaping death.'

'What exactly…' Severus began to ask, but Albus cut him off.

'We shall need to conceive of a strategy concerning Mr Nott sooner than we had anticipated,' he mused, beginning his pacing again. 'And any others you expect could be targeted early. I do not think Lord Voldemort would risk contact… but nor do I expect Peter can do it alone. He may have no choice but to take the chance.'

'Of course, headmaster,' Severus agreed at once. 'I shall devise a way to manipulate Lucius. But, if I may ask…'

Albus paused, glancing over his shoulder to consider the professor. He did not seem quite as cold as he had been – but the gaze was not inviting. 'You may ask,' he allowed. 'I may, however, choose not to answer.'

Severus inclined his head. 'Very well,' he agreed. 'What is your opinion, headmaster, on this connection itself? Why is it that Potter continues to have such visions – without conscious recollection? Why is it that the Dark Lord's mind pervades his own?'

Albus walked back to the basin before he answered. He waved a hand through the air, conjuring a small glass phial. He placed the tip of his wand to the edge of the shimmering surface.

'I do not have an answer,' he said softly as he drew the memory from its temporary home. 'Only my own conjecture. And I cannot share it at this time. What matters is that the connection is dangerous, and even with Occlumency I doubt it can ever be closed entirely. Not while Voldemort lives. Which is why, Severus, we must be very careful to keep its existence from Voldemort's notice, and its influence from causing Harry harm.'

He stoppered the phial. Reaching into a pocket of the violet cloak, he produced a pair of what looked like folded socks. It took Severus a moment to recognise them.

'Harry asked me to return this, with his thanks,' Albus said, his eyes penetrating again as he held out both the phial and the grey woollen socks. 'The memory, of course – I would ask that you either return or destroy at once. It would not do to leave the phial lying about.'

Severus did not immediately move. He stared at the socks, frowning, annoyed beyond reason at the evening's events. Annoyed at the headmaster's answer that had been naught but dismissal. Annoyed at Potter's uncanny ability to beguile and infuriate him. Annoyed even with Her – for sharing _their_ music with Potter's spawn… for leaving him alone in this world; for dying.

Annoyed by the socks.

He wondered that Potter had bothered to return them at all.

'We are fighting this war together, Severus,' Albus said quietly. 'Whatever our differences – we cannot hope to win alone.'

The Potions Master shook himself from the frozen attitude. He stepped forward and took the items carefully from the headmaster's hands, tucking both phial and socks into his own robes.

'Yes,' he agreed. 'And I am in it, headmaster – whatever you need…'

Albus fixed him with his ice-blue stare. Though it was not so harsh a gaze as Severus had suffered on his arrival that night, something of the cowing contempt lingered in the recesses of the headmaster's pupils.

'What I need,' Albus said slowly, 'Is for you to recognise the side you are on, Severus. Things are not as they were. We cannot afford dissention and infighting. We must have a united front. _You_ must trust me – whether you agree with my decision or not.'

'Follow you blindly?' Severus retorted, angry despite himself again. 'You request the services of a lapdog then, Albus…'

'You misunderstand me,' the headmaster contradicted. 'I am not fool enough to assume you do not know your own mind; nor arrogant enough to believe I might always have the better way. But these are arguments to have in private, Severus. When I have given clear instruction – and most _especially_ when I have come to a decision regarding Harry – you will not countermand my position. Is that understood?'

Severus ground his teeth, but gave a curt nod. Albus seemed to sense the lack of contrition. His face darkened a fraction.

'In doing so tonight,' he continued, 'You created a very serious risk to Harry. You jeopardised the efforts we have made to keep him safe, and the efforts we continue to thwart Lord Voldemort's return to power. You could have cost us everything, Severus… all because you placed your pride above all else.'

Severus felt his cheeks burn. Albus' eyes bore into his for a long, painful moment. A reminder, as if he needed it, of _who_ had been the means to Lily Potter's end.

'You will never do it again,' Albus said quietly.

Severus bowed his head, tearing his own eyes away. 'No,' he agreed at once. 'Never, headmaster.'

They were words that felt familiar; words he knew he had given before, with perhaps a syllable less in his supplication. The inevitable comparison made him feel slightly ill. His body tensed – readying, automatically, for the curse… for the reminder of what happened to those who disobeyed, those who defied their Lord.

But it did not come.

Not from this master.

A hand clenched briefly on his shoulder, and – with a whoosh of purple cloak – Dumbledore was gone.

Severus did not raise his head again until he heard the door click shut.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Many hours later, Albus crept along the corridor to Ariana's room – bootless for silence, as both he and Aberforth had agreed they ought to keep magic in her immediate vicinity entirely off-limits for now, whether she was conscious of its use or not. He pushed the door gently ajar, grateful that Aberforth had not locked it, and slipped inside._

 _The room within was in semi-darkness. Two candles flickered on the night table, aiding a waning moon through the windowpanes to guide Albus' quiet steps. The room was simple – a chest of drawers draped in a delicate shawl his mother had sewn by hand; several books on a built-in in the corner, their leather bindings gathering dust. A collection of dolls in an unused rocker, pinafores a myriad of greys in the dim light. A faded violet cushion on the window seat, where Ariana spent so many of her days. His brother – asleep in the hard-backed wooden chair, snoring gently with his head on his shoulder._

 _And her. She was tiny in slumber – not much grown from the small girl of six she had been when they arrived in this sleepy village; reposed in the same child-sized bed she'd had since she was strong enough to climb from her cot. The same patchwork quilt lay snug to her shoulders; her blonde curls tousled where they peeked from the top._

 _Nothing magic in the room. Nothing changed, nothing new. Nothing that might bring her to panic. Albus could not decide if it was a safe harbour, or a cage in all but name._

 _He crept to his brother's side, watching his thick breathing for a few moments. It was almost peaceful… the two of them, sleeping and calm. He nearly broke his resolve to halt the peace._

 _But Aberforth gave a muffled cough in his sleep, and Albus sighed._

 _He shook him lightly at the elbow. As he had expected, the arm beneath was slightly warm to the touch. Aberforth grunted, sniffed, and slowly opened his eyes. They hardened as Albus' face came into focus. He scowled._

 _Albus pressed a finger gently to his own lips. He pulled a phial from the pocket of his dressing gown, holding it up as a peace offering._

 _Aberforth shook his head vigorously._

 _'Aberforth…' Albus began, in the lowest whisper he could manage._

 _With a soft groan, the tiny lump in the bed shifted. Both brothers froze to watch it warily… but Ariana merely gave another small sigh and slept on._

 _His brother returned his angry gaze to Albus, but Albus did not back down. Glaring silently, Aberforth at last pushed himself from the spindly chair and led the way out of the bedroom. He closed the door by degrees. Albus risked a light charm to silence their conversation in the corridor._

 _'Please,' he asked, still whispering as he held up the phial again. 'You need some proper rest.'_

 _Aberforth glowered. 'I'm fine,' he hissed stubbornly._

 _'You're not,' Albus disagreed. 'And you can't look after her if you fall ill yourself. What if you pass it to her, Abe? We cannot risk it in her state…'_

 _Aberforth hesitated, looking forlornly at the closed door. 'She can't be on her own, Albus,' he whispered, turning back to him. 'She's been getting anxious, if she wakes in the dark alone. I have to sit with –'_

 _'I'll do it,' Albus said firmly. 'I can manage the night. I shall not leave her, I promise you.'_

 _Aberforth hesitated again, crossing his arms. 'What is it?' he demanded, nodding at the phial._

 _'Just a light sleeping potion,' Albus assured him. 'If the fever breaks with rest, you can take Pepper-Up in the morning. But it isn't recommended unless –'_

 _'I don't need the matron's lecture, Albus, I know how it works,' Aberforth grumbled. But he snatched the phial begrudgingly, holding it nearer the closest candle to inspect the contents. Seeming satisfied, he pocketed it and shot his brother another distrustful glare. 'If something happens in the night…'_

 _'I shall fetch you,' Albus promised. 'The potion is not strong enough that it would keep you from rising if need be.'_

 _Aberforth gave a stiff nod, and shuffled off for his own room without another word. Albus watched him go in silence. Part of Albus wanted to go after him – though he was not quite sure why._

 _To stand sentry at the door until he knew he'd taken the potion, perhaps; or shake him roughly for his obstinance and his narrow-minded views… or drag his own bed in beside him, and sit whispering into the night – carefree and happy as they had been in childhood. When their mother slept without tears and took them to the sea in warm weather. When their father shook them awake before the Michaelmas dawn to watch the courtship dance of the fairies in the oakwoods of Glen Nant. When their sister laughed and played, violet ribbons in her hair… and Albus had no dearer confidant than his brother._

 _But those nights had passed, many lifetimes ago. They were none of them children now._

 _So Albus watched the door close quietly, his brother as unreachable behind as he had been in front. He removed his own spell and slipped back inside the smallest room._

 _She had not stirred through their conversation, much to his relief. Albus slunk along the edges of the floorboards, avoiding even the smallest creak as he approached the bed and his brother's vigil chair. The candles burned low in their iron holders. He would need to change them soon._

 _He reached carefully down, drawing the quilt lightly away from Ariana's half-hidden face. He straightened it over her chest. Her hair was matted and wild – obscuring her face and puffing lightly as she drew breath behind it. With more delicate a touch than he might use to lift a lacewing, he swept it curl by curl from her cheeks. When she did not stir at the attention, Albus dared to draw his fingers tenderly through the tresses, smoothing the tangles until the locks hung free and soft against the bedding._

 _He sank into the chair his brother had left – his hands folded, now useless, in his lap. Rigid and straight-backed on the edge of the wooden seat, he watched her gentle breath as though it were his only tie to this world. He counted the rise and fall of her chest._

 _Forty-five… forty-six…_

 _He was exhausted. He ought to sleep himself… but Aberforth needed the rest more than he did; and Ariana could not be alone._

 _One-hundred and seven… One-hundred and eight…_

 _The hair was golden; the figure slighter; the cheeks still rounded with youth… and yet as he watched her, Albus' mind was drawn to the Muggle woman. Two innocents facing accursed fates. Two lives placed in his hands – lives he had not asked to safeguard, and lives that had come into his keeping all the same._

 _Letitia Grant's, he had saved._

 _She would live and grow old. She would have children, perhaps, and grandchildren. She would know the feel of the wind against her face as she ran through autumn leaves; the wonder of a white Christmas morning; the comfort of friendship and the passion of love's flame. She would live – and she would thank the heavens each day for her miracle; pray to the God who had granted her an impossible salvation, delivered her from pain and suffering… all the while never haunted by the memory of the days she spent clinging to life by her fingernails; and never knowing her saviour was naught but a stone's throw from her door._

 _'There are men, and there are wizards,' Gellert had hissed excitedly in his ear, watching Letitia writhe in the potion's grasp. 'And then, Albus, there is us._ We _are the chosen ones. And we shall change the world.'_

 _And for her, they had._

 _For Letitia Grant… they were better than the best. They were innovation. They were the future._

 _When_ she _had lain, waxen and broken in a tiny bed, Albus had snatched her back from the mouth of Hades. He had defied Death his victim. He had_ been _her God._

 _And yet… for his sister, he could not. For her – he was nothing._

 _There was only the phoenix. There was only transitory salvation._

 _Two-hundred and seventeen…_

 _'His name is Fawkes,' Ariana said softly, her blue eyes fluttering open._

 _Albus leaned toward her, as stunned by her voice as her waking. She so rarely spoke these days; and even less so to him._

 _Her face was pale in the moonlight, soft blonde curls cascading down the sides of the pillows behind her, loosened by his careful hands while she slept. Her blue eyes were open and alert – focused on her brother's face. Shadowed circles beneath them and heavy lids suggested the exhaustion that was mounting in the wake of this futile fight… but, for the moment, she seemed calm and unburdened._

 _He pushed himself entirely off his chair in one fluid movement and knelt on the floor beside her little bed._

 _'Pardon, my darling?' he asked, frightened even to breathe and ruin the moment. 'Whose name?'_

 _'Fawkes,' she repeated, smiling sweetly. 'The phoenix who keeps saving me. That's what he's called.'_

 _Albus looked deeply into her eyes. He would never allow himself to legilimise her… but he did not need to. Somehow, he saw not only truth in their gaze, but also knowledge._

 _'How do you know that?' he asked her in a low voice._

 _'He sings to me,' she answered simply. 'I can hear him after, when I dream. It's a pretty song. And it's peaceful then… Fawkes keeps all other things away.'_

 _'He does?' Albus asked, feeling both rather stupid and intensely intrigued. He reached out a tentative hand and gently stroked her hair. She smiled._

 _'Always,' she said, around a little yawn._

 _'He told you his name?' Albus went on. 'He speaks to you in these dreams?'_

 _Ariana gave a tinkling laugh, her exhaustion momentarily postponed. 'Oh no,' she denied. 'No… I can just tell. Can't you?'_

 _'I – no,' he admitted._

 _She nodded in a vague sort of way – eyes drifting strangely out of focus. Albus tensed with his hand on her head… but she blinked heavily three times, and the moment appeared to pass._

 _Ariana let out a long sigh. 'I'm tired,' she said quietly, her voice almost lost in its sudden weakness._

 _Albus swallowed against the lump in his throat, brushing back her hair with gentle fingers. 'Sleep. Everything is going to be all right.'_

 _Where moments before there had been such joy, now there was immeasurable weariness again; pain, and fright. But such it was with Ariana._

 _'I'm tired,' she repeated, her pale eyes beseeching as she found his face. 'So tired, Albus…'_

 _He shook his head, unable to face the words. He took up one of her tiny hands in his much larger, rubbing it slightly to warm her, kissing the back very lightly, pressing it between his own. If he could have given her his own strength in that moment – he would have done._

 _'I know,' he agreed croakily. 'I'm trying…'_

 _She merely blinked slowly again, her breath appearing to hitch. Albus thought he could feel the bed rumble slightly beneath her. Her hand twitched in his._

 _Albus lowered it back to the mattress slowly, and released his hold on her._

 _'Tell me about Fawkes?' he asked, trying to keep his voice light and untroubled._

 _The trembling slowed. His sister dragged herself from the stupor, and the bed stilled entirely as she focused at last on his face._

 _'He's beautiful,' she breathed, the corners of her mouth lifting a fraction. 'So beautiful… the music…'_

 _'Phoenix song is said to be the sweetest of all sounds,' Albus agreed, carding her hair softly again now she'd calmed. 'It is a balm for the pure of heart and strength for the courageous.'_

 _'Well, I doubt there could be any as beautiful as Fawkes',' she said loyally, sighing a little. 'He sings like… like light, made into sound. It drives the darkness away.'_

 _'It sounds glorious,' Albus said, smiling too._

 _'Haven't you ever heard it?' she asked, looking over at him again._

 _'I… no, I haven't,' Albus admitted. 'Phoenixes are very rare, you see.'_

 _He would have liked to tell her more, but he feared the discussion. They almost never spoke of magic in front of Ariana; let alone the intricacies of the magical world. They never knew what reminder might bring her comfort or joy, and which may send her into a rage._

 _Her face lost its smile as she looked at him sadly. 'No…' she echoed. She stifled a yawn. 'Perhaps not yet. But you shall, Albus. One day you shall. When it's time, he will come for you.'_

 _'He will?' Albus asked, his voice almost a whisper now._

 _She took his hand this time. Her fingers were soft and delicate – her grip so much smaller and younger than fourteen years should have been. Ariana squeezed his fingers once, though her eyes had closed again – succumbing to the heaviness once more. Albus knew sleep would take her shortly._

 _A terrible pang rent his chest; reminding him that if he could not solve this mystery… soon, sleep would claim her forever._

 _'Yes,' she promised. 'He wants to save you, too.'_

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Sixteen**

 **Wide Eyed and Curious** : Thanks for your review! Haha, I'm glad you had a 'oh crap' moment at the end… I am fairly certain that Severus also did. This next chapter will begin with the fall out from that moment. It is unfortunate for Severus that not only was he doing something Dumbledore _explicitly_ asked him not to; but he also happens to get a Dumbledore fresh off death threats to Gellert Grindelwald, and perhaps not in the calm, serene temper he is so well known for. Exploring the more volatile side to Dumbledore's character has been an exciting venture in this book as a writer. It is, naturally, so closely tied to Grindelwald, and the secrets they share. Not just Ariana… but the emotional turmoil of Albus' past and Gellert's ability to tap into that. Reading of someone's great power is one thing – but seeing that power unleash itself can be so much more exciting. I'm glad you are enjoying that part of things. I hope I can oblige with a speedy update this time! I'm a bit laid up with these healing ribs… but it allows a great deal of time for writing. Hope you like the next chapter!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! Ah – I do apologise for two evil cliff hangers in a row – but hopefully the short time between updates on this occasion will alleviate some of the pain. Severus is _definitely_ in for a scolding… poor thing. :) Hope you enjoy it!

 **Alathenia** : Thank you for your review! So happy to hear you have discovered the series and are enjoying it so much – both the story and the commentary. Its wonderful to hear from readers who are liking the experience as much as I am enjoying the writing process. And thank you for all your wonderful comments – it is truly appreciated!

Hmm… phials. I haven't much thought on it before, but I have actually have seen it spelled both 'phials' and 'vials' here (UK). I personally use 'phials' most of the time, and I think it tends to be the more common spelling in literature, including HP – at least in Britain. As to the 'sweet' mishap – yes, definitely a typo. Taking painkillers at the time of this posting, I was not as careful in editing as I usually am, I fear. Thank you for bringing it to my attention – it has been corrected. I'm sure I'll need to do a proper read-through over the next few days and fix a few other minor mistakes that slipped through before.

Voldemort – definitely disgusting, I quite agree. Pettigrew has uncommon resolve… and, of course, uncommon fears. Interesting question on the Muggle… it was left deliberately vague at this point, but it will resurface, and you will learn the answer. I wanted readers to ponder her fate as they worked through this scene – and how her story may or may not have affected Albus and Gellert in that conversation so many decades later.

As to the larger tale of Albus and Gellert and their shared history… oh, it is definitely complicated. More so even than we have yet had opportunity to see. They are so similar and yet so distinctly opposed… both manipulative, both brilliant, both motivated by a keen sense of purpose and morality (yes, even Grindelwald… though he definitely comes at it from a much different and arguably questionable place). Gellert does care for Albus; and Albus, in some small part of his brain he refuses to acknowledge, for him – or, at least, for the boy he once was. Albus knows Gellert is his intellectual equal – perhaps his _only_ intellectual equal; he knows he is useful and perhaps could prove key in ensuring Harry's ultimate survival… but Albus is frightened of Gellert. This is the only man against whom Albus has not been sure of success; the only one who knows certain truths that could destroy him. It is why he is so uncharacteristically vulnerable in Grindelwald's presence – for no one else can get under his armour or unmask his vulnerabilities in quite so effective a manner. In Part II, Chapter 12, Albus tells Harry: 'Do you trust everyone you love? It is not an easy answer, is it? Love… trust… even hate. They are strong and complex emotions; strong and complex _magics_. Most people cannot honestly describe, even to themselves, whom it is they love, or trust, or hate. And often, we feel some measure of all three for the same person.' I think in many ways this observation rather sums his feelings for Gellert Grindelwald.

As for the wand – in short, absolutely. The Elder Wand is an ancient and immensely powerful weapon. Whether it is predisposed to violent spellwork is ambiguous… but as Ollivander has said, wands learn from their wizards, and wizards from the wand. This is a wand with a storied and bloody history – highly coveted, fiercely protected, and viciously won and lost. It allies itself with strength and victory. In canon Deathly Hallows, Albus tells Harry that he was fit to tame and own the Elder Wand because he took it from Grindelwald not for selfish reasons but to save others from its power. (Similarly, he tells Harry in Chapter 10 of this book: 'I set out to face Grindelwald to save others from his wand; I did not set out to murder.') What it means to truly 'master' a wand of such enormous historical impact and independent will shall be explored in depth later in the story.

The prophecy… a constant weight in the back of the story; and, it is true, an impediment to Albus' openness with Harry. I think a lot of my thoughts behind his continued abstinence in revealing the truth have been summed within Severus and Albus' several disagreements on the subject, particularly Albus' insistence that Harry is too 'young' in the sense that he is not yet emotionally mature enough to take the prophecy for what it is, but disregard it (something Severus does not quite understand… but we'll get there). He does it because he loves Harry, and because he fears deeply for him. Whether that is the right decision is definitely a debateable question. I can tell you Harry _will_ learn of the prophecy well before its revelation in canon, although I cannot promise it will be soon.

The Harry/Snape Legilimency situation and Albus' reaction will be explored significantly at the start of Chapter Seventeen… so I'll leave this one unanswered for now. Again, I really appreciate all your insightful comments, and I hope I was able to answer some of your questions! Enjoy the next instalment.

 **MotherBear** : Thanks for reviewing! Haha, don't worry… this is not the moment to kill Severus off – I promise he'll survive his interaction with the headmaster, unpleasant though it shall undoubtedly be. Harry won't be speaking up for him this time, however – he's _really_ angry with Severus himself at the moment. As to the incident at the end of term… well, that will come back, I promise you. Ah, and young Harry has finally felt the pummelling attack of Legilimency. Severus' style is not quite the same as Voldemort's, of course, but it is significantly closer to his than to Albus' gentler approach. This will have consequences – both immediate and in Harry's education generally.

 _Interesting_ thought on Albus' dragon blood potion becoming the poison that kills the Muggle man in the boat. Very, very interesting. In my head, Voldemort's comment that his death would be unsuspicious was because he is suffering lung cancer. I did put my thoughts on the Muggle woman's ambiguous fate into a review response above… but we will find out eventually :).

Thank you for the well wishes! I am feeling much better this week (honestly, flu _and_ broken ribs in the same month… I am beginning to think _I've_ been cursed). Keeping from lifting the children has been difficult. James caught me cheating twice early on, and the second time I turned oddly and probably would have dropped poor Ella if he hadn't walked in the nursery at precisely that moment. I think my ears are still ringing from his lecture. Luckily, nanny has been wonderful about everything with the girls, and my mother has dropped in to help on her days off… so we're bumping along now. It is a frustrating healing process, but they say after a fortnight things improve greatly.

I hope you like the next chapter!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for reviewing! Exciting to see one from you :)

Very glad you enjoyed the chapter! Ah, I did think about sending Snape on some wayward paths… but in the end, I didn't think it would be very 'Snape' in this particularly moment. When he discovers memories he shouldn't, he so rarely does so accidentally – and in this case he was specifically looking for the vision, so I didn't side-track him. What he found, however, will certainly be enough to be getting on with. Haha, glad you enjoyed Harry's indignation! As to why he did not have a memory of the vision on waking… well, I'll let Dumbledore explain.

Glad you enjoyed the Gellert/Albus portion of the chapter! One of my favourite character interactions to write, as you know :). As to the fallout from Snape's little escapades… we shall pick up immediately with Dumbledore's reaction – and he shall _not_ be happy.

Enjoy Chapter Seventeen!

 **Theflowerdaisy** : Thanks for your review! Great to hear that you enjoyed the chapter so much. Pitting Albus and Gellert against each other is one of my favourite dynamics to write. They complement each other, and yet are opposites; they are nearly equals in intellect and magical strength; and – as you rightly stated – Gellert can challenge Albus where perhaps no other can. Perhaps it is the intimacy of their past, or their rivalry, or the fact that nobody knows quite how to reach our insecurities like a childhood companion – or a combination of the three. Allowing Albus a moment of weakness – ironically, in a display of his immense power – was something I've been looking forward to in his interactions with Gellert since we first met Grindelwald near the end of Part I.

It is an interesting question. _Did_ Gellert 'make' Albus? Did Ariana? Perhaps, there is truth in both. I find it interesting that your review appears to take Albus' viewpoint – that, as he says, he is who he is because of Ariana's death, and the choices he made for her and in her memory. My friend and sometime 'Beta', Lizzie, told me upon reading this passage that she thought Albus was wrong – that Gellert _is_ the reason that Albus became the wizard he did, whether the headmaster wants to believe it or not. I believe both opinions hold truth. Personally, I see the difference hinging on their different views of the world. Albus, who considers love the greatest of all magics, sees his love for his sister (and the accompanying grief at her loss) as the driving force behind his very nature. Gellert, who views magical power in strength and influence and intellectual brilliance, thinks competition and rivalry drive one to greatness. I believe the two are not necessarily mutually exclusive.

The fallout of Snape's poorly timed invasion will be clear in this next chapter, so I will let you read to find out… As to the Muggle, that question should also be answered in Chapter 17. As I don't know whether some reading this might not yet have read the chapter, I won't put spoilers here as to why I chose to give her the fate I did – but I'll be happy to comment on it in the next review response section. Snape did say that the potion he gave his father – Draught of Peace – was 'a highly potent variant of Calming Draught, used to quiet anxiety and panic attacks in Wizarding folk. It is not normally recommended for Muggle consumption except in the smallest of doses, and only then under extreme circumstances.' This suggests that Draught of Peace either works with a Magical Core / requires a drinker to have magic to work effectively or – more likely – contains magical ingredients that do not mix well at high dosages with a Muggle's system. The ability to take potions is not always limited to wizards, however. It depends on the composition and functionality of the potion itself. Severus snidely comments on this to Harry early in Part II, when Harry is surprised to hear that the Ministry gave his aunt and uncle Calming Draught in the wake of Aunt Marge's inflation. Gellert's musing to Albus in Chapter Sixteen suggests that the dragon blood potion they created – while it obviously has magical ingredients – may not require a drinker to have magic themselves, as the other versions used for medicinal purposes have not invoked the magic of the drinker to work. This does not, obviously, mean the potion is necessarily safe for non-magical consumption… but it suggests the answer is not immediately obvious without testing.

Wow, ok – long explanation, haha. My ribs are feeling much better – though definitely not a fun injury! Thanks for asking :) Enjoy Chapter 17!

 **Aliceinthereals** : Thank you for reviewing! Great to hear from a new reader, and I am glad you've been enjoying the series thus far! I thank you for your compliments on the writing and characterisations. As to Grindelwald – I am actually quite nervous for Fantastic Beasts' later films! It is completely possible JKR takes the character in an entirely new direction… but, for now, I shall soldier on with my own interpretation.

Ah, is she dead or alive… well, I have just written a rather lengthy paragraph on the properties of potions for another reviewer – but as to the ultimate question, I shan't say here. Chapter 17, however, will provide your answer. Albus' anger was given some reign here – a rarity, where he is concerned. He is usually such a model of restraint and benign calm… but we've pushed him a bit out of his element with these latest developments. He _is_ the most dangerous wizard alive, as you so rightly have said. We often forget that power can be as easily used for ill as for good. As to Snape – Chapter 17 should aptly answer his fate.

If you did re-read, I hope you enjoyed it as much… and I hope you like the next instalment!


	18. Fourteen Candles, Seven Chests

**A/N:** Apologies for the delayed posting (I know – almost two months!), but the holidays and more madness at work than we've had in nearly a year made it next to impossible to find time for a proper edit. Add to that two tiny terrors that can now scoot about at the speed of light and have started hoisting themselves up on table edges and toppling everything they can reach… and my life has been complicated of late. I'll try not to be quite so long in future.

I have two chapters coming back to back for you, however (originally, I was planning to post an epic-length one, but I have since decided a quick posting of two would be better), which I hope will make up for some of the painful delay.

In any case, I do hope everyone enjoys 'Fourteen Candles', and – as always –

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 **FOURTEEN CANDLES, SEVEN CHESTS**

 _'Why don't we just buy a phoenix?' Aberforth asked impatiently, as Albus sat at the table counting out galleons from the latest payment off his article._

 _Albus rolled his eyes._

 _'I know they can't come cheap,' Aberforth pressed on. 'But seriously… I'll work too, if I have to. We can save up together. And then we'll never have to worry about running out…'_

 _'You cannot buy a phoenix,' Albus said, forcing himself to patience. 'That is not how it works.'_

 _'Come off it,' Aberforth said with a snort. 'It's not_ common _is it, but there are wizards with phoenixes. We talked about it in Care of Magical Creatures.'_

 _'Then you will have also learned,' Albus said, with a touch more bite to his voice, 'That phoenix owners are not so much_ owners _as chosen masters. Phoenixes are wild, highly magical birds. They cannot be forced into service, and they cannot be kept in captivity. Where a bond exists between a phoenix and its owner, it is only because that phoenix has chosen to ally itself with the witch or wizard master. The bird is free to make such bonds with whomever he so chooses, and break them just the same. I could not procure one by choice even if I sought the phoenix out.'_

 _Aberforth ground his teeth. 'How many can you get with that then?' he asked, nodding at the pile of gold._

 _'Perhaps… two more phials,' Albus decided. 'If the proprietor is willing to barter.'_

 _There was a sticky silence as both boys stared at the pile of gold before them – pathetically small in the face of the invaluable treasure it was meant to protect._

 _'And what happens, Albus, if it's not enough?' Aberforth demanded. 'She is nearly fourteen… she has grown so much stronger. What if this is not enough to stop her? What happens if we run out?'_

 _Albus pushed himself up, swinging his travelling cloak over his shoulders. Aberforth watched him through wide, fearful eyes._

 _'We can't,' Albus said firmly, scooping the coins into a leather pouch. 'Failure is not an option.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Remus woke with a start, pulled from dreams by a familiar, strangled yell. He fumbled the side table for his wand with one hand, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the other.

'Bullocks,' he hissed, as he accidentally knocked the wand off the surface of the table in his blind search. Shivering slightly in the chill of the night air, he bent to sweep it up.

'Argh!'

He leapt backward, considering the dampened carpet in disgust. Salty rain was whipping the curtains, pummelling the room where Remus had foolishly left the window ajar as he slept. Cursing again, he slammed it shut, retrieved the wand, and cast a hasty drying spell at the curtains and floor. On the other side of the little house, the muffled shouting continued.

Thirty seconds later, Remus had padded across the corridor and began pounding on the door.

'Sirius?' he called over the noise from within. 'Sirius!'

As he had expected, there was no reply. He tried the handle, but it merely ground against the latch. Remus sighed.

'How many times?' he asked to nobody in particular.

It took him four tries to find the spell that would release the charm. When at last the door clicked free, Remus shoved it open with his shoulder. As had been the case each of the seven similar nights thus far, Sirius did not even notice the intrusion. He was tossing fitfully in the bed, still mumbling and giving the occasional stifled cry. One fisted arm flung dangerously through the air, tipping the candle on the night table. Its flame caught on a corner of the twisted sheets.

' _Aguamenti_!' Remus shouted at once, dousing the fire before it could singe the bed's occupant. He rushed to Sirius' side, careful to avoid his flailing limbs, and set his own wand on the night table for illumination.

'Sirius!' he called, shaking hard. 'Sirius – wake up!'

This time, the bed's occupant appeared to hear. He came to with a gasped inhale, as though Remus had pulled him from turbulent waters.

'Wh –'

'Hush, it's alright,' Remus soothed, tugging at the knotted bedsheets to loosen their hold. 'Everything's fine.'

Sirius' breathing slowly levelled out. He shoved Remus' hands away, working at the bedclothes himself until he could pull his knees free.

'Damn it,' he swore, tossing the quilt roughly to the side. 'I'm sorry. I'm such a –'

'Stop it,' Remus said firmly. 'You can't help it.'

He lit the rescued candle again and twisted his wand through the air. A cool glass of water appeared beside it. He passed it to Sirius, who guzzled it gratefully.

'You've got to stop locking the door, Padfoot,' Remus admonished gently.

'I can't,' Sirius said, looking mainly at his knees.

Remus frowned back. 'Why not?'

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. Remus quirked an eyebrow in amusement. 'I'm not going to barge in without a knock, Sirius,' he chastised. 'But it's so irritating to try and come up with a dozen unlocking charms every time I'm trying to stop you setting fire to the bed.'

Sirius raised his eyes, glaring back. 'It's not because of _that_ ,' he insisted. 'But if it makes it easier on you, I'll stick with _Colloportus_ from now on, alright?'

'And no more with the candles,' Remus added, losing his jest for a sterner expression. 'You'll torch the place first time I oversleep. Besides, it's better for your eyes to rest in darkness.'

Sirius paled. 'I can't,' he repeated, looking at his knees again.

Remus sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his hunched friend more closely. He did not ask, or prompt. He just waited there in silence. It was a fully thirty seconds, but eventually Sirius spoke.

'I need the candle,' he said softly, still averting his eyes. 'I want the light.'

'Alright,' Remus agreed simply.

Sirius nodded to the quilt. 'And the door,' he added. 'It has to stay locked. It has to be shut.'

But this, Remus did not understand. 'Why?' he asked quietly. 'If it's… these dreams, if they're of Azkaban, wouldn't you feel better with the door –'

'No,' Sirius cut across him shortly. ' _I_ lock it, don't you see? _I_ did it – nobody else. I control when it opens, when it shuts. Who comes in and out.'

'Alright, alright,' Remus relented, palms up.

Sirius nodded once, picking the water back up. Remus watched him sip for several long moments, but Sirius did not seem inclined to speak again.

'Do you want to talk about it?' he suggested quietly.

Sirius glared over the rim of the glass. 'There's nothing to talk about.'

'Sirius…'

'Well, there isn't!' Sirius insisted, setting the glass back to the wood with a bang. 'More of the same. Always, the same. Every time….'

Remus hesitated. 'Padfoot,' he tried. 'It would –'

'Don't,' Sirius advised darkly. 'Don't say it would help.'

There was a sticky moment of silence. Sirius sighed deeply. 'I know you're trying, Moony,' he said, giving Remus a grimace. 'I do. And it _does_ help, some of the time. Having you here. Being here – together. But it can't undo the past. Talking about it won't change that.'

'No,' Remus agreed. 'Nothing will change what happened. But talking about it _can_ help you deal with it all, Sirius. And it doesn't hurt to try. Holding it all inside won't fix –'

'Not everything is fixable!' Sirius growled in frustration. 'Not everything can be undone, Moony. Even Dumbledore couldn't. When I asked him…'

Remus paused with his mouth open, brow furrowing. 'When you asked him what?' he queried warily.

Sirius twisted a corner of the bedsheet so hard the fabric strained. 'I asked him to get rid of it,' he admitted after a moment. 'That last night – just before he and Minnie and Harry left. I asked him to take it all away – the darkness, the pain… Azkaban. He couldn't do it. Or wouldn't, maybe.'

Remus ran a hand along his chin, noticing vaguely that he could do with a shave. 'I'm sure he would have,' he said gently. 'If he could have –'

'Would he?' Sirius challenged. 'I'm not so sure…'

There was another pregnant pause as both contemplated the headmaster in silence.

'You know that's not true,' Remus said quietly at last. 'Dumbledore is many things. But he is not cruel.'

'No,' Sirius agreed softly. 'He is not.' He sighed again, shifting his legs so he could wrap his arms around his knees. 'It was easier,' he admitted, 'When Harry was here. I didn't have this nonsense at night. With other things to think about – with Harry to worry about – I could sort of tune it out…'

'Which is precisely why Harry is _not_ here, Sirius,' Remus pointed out gently. 'You aren't _supposed_ to tune it out. You must learn to make peace with your memories. You will never recover by ignoring their existence.'

'Don't you think I know that?' Sirius growled. 'Don't you think I _know_ that, Remus? I am not a child. I was one of the best in our year – better than _you_ with a wand; just as good as James. I am neither a fool nor an invalid.'

'I never said you were, Padfoot,' Remus assured him. 'Never. I am only trying to help… but you are fighting me at every turn. You've hardly let me –'

'Because you CAN'T, Remus!' Sirius bellowed, clawing at his hair in frustration. 'You can't help! You can't understand – you can never understand – what it was like to live in that place… what it's like now – to be out, but never to be free…'

Remus quelled his own instincts to tear at his hair with great difficulty. Instead, he kept his face as calm as he could, looking Sirius directly in the eye.

'I cannot understand what you went through in Azkaban,' he agreed quietly. 'Not truly. But you think _I_ do not empathise with what it is to live with terrible burden? How badly memories and terror can eclipse sleep? You think _I_ do not know what it is to be ostracised? What it is to live under constant shadow?'

A flicker of pain crossed Sirius' eyes. 'No, of course not, Remus,' he said in a softer tone. 'I didn't mean it like that. But still, it's not the –'

'No, it isn't the same,' Remus finished for him. 'It isn't the same, Padfoot, because when it was _me_ – my secrets, my burden, my pain and my loneliness – I had you. I had James. I had –'

He stumbled over the word for a moment.

'People,' he concluded instead, though he knew Sirius would not miss the name in the offing. 'I would not have made it, you know, without that. The loneliness; the isolation – it is overpowering. What you did for me is a debt I can never repay. For as reckless and foolhardy as it may have been – those nights in the moonlight were more than just a laugh to me, Sirius. They saved my life.'

Sirius gave a weak smile. 'No need to get all sentimental, Moony,' he teased half-heartedly. 'I reckon teaching all those Hufflepuffs has taken your edge a bit.'

But Remus did not laugh. After a moment, Sirius stopped his soft chortle. He put one hand atop Remus' on the quilt. 'Of course we did it for you, Moony,' he said. 'We loved you.'

Remus smiled back. 'And that is precisely my point,' he said gently. 'Love is a powerful magic, Padfoot. We are family. Which is why, no matter how many times you want to push me away… I'll still be here, when you're ready to talk about it.'

Sirius gave a deep sigh. 'Fine,' he agreed, half a grumble, half – Remus suspected – in gratitude. 'I'll think about it. But not tonight, alright?'

'Fair enough,' Remus said with a small smile. He pushed himself off the edge of the bed, sweeping for the door again. At the last moment, however, he paused. Aiming his wand at the night table, he floated the still-flickering candle across the room instead.

'Until then, however, the candle stays on the chest of drawers, alright?'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Up, up!'

Harry groaned and rolled over, just in time to catch a wave of light as Minerva threw the curtains ajar. He winced and squinted in the sudden brightness.

'Oi!' he complained, running a hand over his eyes. 'Good morning to you too.'

She smirked unapologetically. 'It is nearly time for luncheon,' she informed him. 'And a fine day outdoors. I had hoped you would join me in the Great Hall.'

Harry shuffled upright at once. 'I… yeah, course I will,' he agreed. 'Just give me two minutes.'

Minerva nodded and quit the room.

Harry pulled himself out of the bed with some effort, shaking off the familiar effects of Dreamless Sleep as he struggled into trousers. The sky outside was an unforgiving white, but the sun had not yet managed to break through the clouds.

 _Perfect Quidditch conditions_ , Harry thought as he threw himself flat on his stomach to dig his trainers out from under the bed. _If only he didn't have lessons with –_

He froze, fist clenching round the pair of socks bunched up in his left hand.

 _Snape_.

In a sudden whoosh, the haze of the potion released him at last, allowing the deluge of memories from the previous evening to consume his mind.

 _The dream… the music in the dungeons… Snape – invading his mind. Albus' fury. Voldemort, killing again. Albus bringing him back upstairs, in Snape's socks._

 _SNAPE INVADING HIS MIND!_

Harry straightened up with the jolt of it – smacking his head hard against the underside of the bed. Cursing and rubbing the lump, he threw the trainers on in a furious rush, snatched his wand, and darted from the room.

The sight of Minerva in the study brought another recollection.

'Aren't you supposed to be gone until tonight?' he asked, sounding a bit more accusatory than he'd meant to in his agitation.

The professor raised an eyebrow at the tone, but she did not chastise him for it.

'Albus was called to London this morning, and asked me to return,' she informed him. 'He did not wish you to wake on your own after the events of last night.'

Harry ground his teeth. 'About that,' he said, unable to keep the anger at bay. 'I'm _not_ doing lessons with Snape today.'

'Harry –'

'I WON'T!' Harry shouted over her. 'I refuse! And you can't make me – it's not normal school, is it? I don't have to do lessons if I –'

'Harry –'

'NO!' he bellowed, ignoring the hand she'd put up to stop him. Several of the portraits on the wall behind Albus' desk stopped feigning sleep, shifting and muttering in their frames as they surveyed the scene below.

The fear from the dream, the pain from the Legilimency attack, and the shock of Albus' arrival and terrible power the previous evening had faded with the dawn of a new day. This morning, Harry's rage had sole priority.

'NO!' he repeated. 'Do you know what he did last night? Did Albus tell you?'

'I –'

'Albus _told_ me to go to Snape if anything happened while he was away. I woke up with my scar hurting, but I didn't know why. I couldn't remember a dream,' he said in a rush, voice close to cracking as it worked to maintain maximum volume. 'When I got there – with NO permission and NO warning, Snape used Legilimency on me. He RIPPED the memories from me – forced me to relive it all: the dream I'd forgotten, and the dream before. He kept at it until I blacked out, and then HE had the gall to tell ME it was MY fault – because I'M no good at Occlumency!'

'Really!' a tiny witch with an upturned nose huffed indignantly, brandishing a painted wand in remonstration at Harry.

'Insolent little beast,' a sneering man in the Slytherin colours put in, narrowing his dark eyes. 'I warned Dumbledore this would happen.'

'Enough commentary!' Minerva said sharply, flicking her own wand at the wall of portraits so that long curtains appeared from both ends and swung closed to hide the frames. 'Harry, I realise –'

'NO, YOU DON'T!' Harry cried. 'YOU DON'T, or you wouldn't try to make me go. It was illegal, and it HURT, and I REFUSE to be in the same room as –'

'HARRY!' Minerva shouted, drowning him out at last. 'I AM _NOT_ SENDING YOU TO POTIONS!'

Harry stopped his next protest on his tongue. 'You – you're not?' he asked stupidly.

She pressed a flyaway strand of dark hair back into her signature bun, fixing him with a stern look through her spectacles. 'No, I am not,' she affirmed. 'So, I would appreciate it if you would carry on the remainder of this conversation at a respectable tone.'

'Right,' Harry agreed, deflating in a mixture of relief and chagrin. 'Right. Sorry, ma'am.'

'It is quite alright,' Minerva assured him. Harry couldn't help but notice, however, that her eyes still flashed. She sighed. 'Come and have something to eat,' she insisted. 'And we will speak of Severus.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Minerva was livid.

Albus' message had come by Fawkes, shortly after seven o'clock in the morning. It was brief and to the point – a simple request that she return to the castle as he needed to step out and Harry could not be left alone. He had left the details to her arrival.

She had stormed from the study the moment he had finished relaying the news, and he – rather uncharacteristically – had not attempted to stop her. By the time she had returned from the dungeons to the tower, he had gone – leaving the phoenix to guard the boy and await Minerva's entrance.

As much as the headmaster's seeming disinclination to intercept her rage had surprised her, it was nothing to the Potions Master's reaction.

 _She had burst through the door to his personal quarters in high temper, whirling her wand through the air to light every candle in the chilled room as she shouted his name._

 _Severus had stumbled down the corridor from his bedchamber – barefoot and bleary-eyed in his dressing gown, a faint stench of stale spirit on his breath._

 _'Minerva?' he questioned huskily, running a hand over the stubble she had rarely seen grace his sallow skin. 'Is everything –'_

 _'Of course it's not alright!' she screeched in fury. 'How could you, Severus?'_

 _In an instant, his stance was straighter, his face a masque of impassivity. But the cutting remark she had anticipated did not come. 'Albus has told you,' he said in monotone instead._

 _Minerva glared. 'Sit,' she commanded, pulling a chair from the kitchen forward with a flick of her wand. Its legs screeched painfully along the floor in its path to Severus. He glanced at it warily, but sat._

 _'Explain yourself,' Minerva demanded._

 _'What would you like me to explain, Minerva?' Severus asked in that same, dull tone. 'It appears you are already informed.'_

 _'Do not get coy with me,' she warned. 'Tell me_ why _, Severus, you would be so cruel. Tell me why, when a child arrived at your doorstep in panic and fear in the middle of the night, you would cast your sense aside and perform such a callous act of magic.'_

 _'Potter is not a child, Minerva,' Severus disagreed quietly. 'He is nearly fourteen. We both know that –'_

 _'He is a BOY!' she screamed. 'He is a boy, and he is under our protection. What you did was not only illegal, Severus, it was a violation of the highest order. We all know you hate Harry Potter, but to take it as far as –'_

 _'I did not do it because I dislike the boy, Minerva,' Severus protested, sounding – for the first time – slightly heated. 'I did it because I felt it was for the best…'_

 _'For the –' Minerva began indignantly, but Severus continued all the same._

 _'It was a misguided judgment,' he conceded, palms up. 'And for that, I do apologise.'_

 _The bluntness of the retreat caught her off-guard. Covering the pause, she straightened with a huff._

 _'I have already told the headmaster it will not happen again,' Severus finished. He grimaced slightly. 'When Potter resumes Potions later today, I shall inform him of the same.'_

 _'Harry will not be attending Potions today,' Minerva decided immediately._

 _Severus narrowed his eyes. 'Albus has requested that the boy –'_

 _'Albus will not contradict me in this,' Minerva said firmly._

 _Severus frowned. 'Very well,' he agreed. 'It was a long evening, at any rate. You may inform Potter that I shall see him on Monday for Wandless –'_

 _'Perhaps you misunderstand me,' Minerva interrupted. 'Harry shall not resume_ any _lessons with you. Not until you have proven you may be trusted with him.'_

 _Severus leapt out of the chair so quickly, Minerva took an involuntary step backward in alarm. Even barefoot and without his billowing robes, the Potions Master was suddenly menacing._

 _'The headmaster trusts me, Minerva,' he hissed furiously. 'He has trusted me with_ all _the brats for some thirteen years hence.'_

 _'It is not Albus' trust you must re-earn, Severus,' Minerva returned icily._

 _He scoffed in anger. 'I would expect nothing less,' he spat derisively. 'Always protecting your own above all else. You have shut your eyes to the follies of your Gryffindor brats for years, Minerva.'_

 _'I can scarcely believe_ you _, Severus, can level such an accusation with a straight face,' she volleyed back imperiously. 'I am as strict with my own House as any other, and always have been. It is not I who am known to show favouritism. And that is not the concern here – as you know very well. What you did was not Harry's responsibility. The fault lies entirely with yourself, and –'_

 _'And I have stated my regret for it!' Severus insisted angrily. 'I acted hastily. But Potter must be instructed, Minerva. Your trust –'_

 _'Is entirely lacking at the moment, I assure you,' Minerva finished. 'But it is neither mine nor Albus' that concerns me now, Severus.'_

 _For a brief moment, Severus appeared confused. Then his obsidian eyes darkened further as the message sank in._

 _'Potter has never trusted me,' he scorned. 'Nor do I care one way or another.'_

 _'You know that is not true,' she said. 'Trust between the instructor and the pupil is an integral component to the most difficult branches of magical education. It is essential. At the moment, I cannot imagine you have any to speak of. And I cannot countenance returning Harry to your tutelage with whatever pittance you might have established in shambles.'_

 _Severus crossed his arms. 'If you believe I shall attempt a reconciliation with the brat, Minerva…'_

 _'You shall try,' she commanded sharply. 'For until you can comport yourself in a respectable manner, Severus, I shall not allow you within ten feet of Harry.'_

 _'The headmaster –'_

 _She glared down his protest. 'If you are fool enough to believe that you can bend Albus' ear away from me on this,' she warned, 'Then you are not half as clever as you believe yourself to be.'_

 _She sent the kitchen chair back to its usual place with an impatient flick, and stowed her wand in her pocket as she swept for the door._

 _'I would suggest,' she added, pausing on the threshold to look back at the professor, 'That you begin by directing your apology to the one who you have wronged.'_

 _And, leaving the dumbstruck Potions Master staring after her, she whipped the door shut._

'So I, er… truly don't have to do Potions, professor?' Harry asked, looking doubtfully at her over his plate of toad in the hole.

'You do not,' Minerva affirmed, her nostrils flaring a bit. 'Professor Snape recognises that his actions were not decent –'

'That's putting it mildly,' Harry mumbled.

'And though I do not believe he intended to do you harm –'

'But it was a lovely little bonus, I reckon –'

'We have determined that you should have a break from Potions and Wandless Magic, for the time being,' she finished.

Harry paused in his commentary, looking surprised. 'Really? Not just today, then?'

Minerva dropped a slice of lemon into her tea. 'We shall see,' she said. 'Your birthday is this coming Sunday. You could do with a few days off to enjoy it with your friends. I dare say Mr Weasley and Ms Granger would be willing to spend a couple of nights at the castle.'

Harry beamed. 'What about our lessons?' he asked. 'Or the rest of this afternoon's?'

'I know Albus wishes to have one additional meeting with you today,' Minerva informed him. 'But, if you are not opposed, I thought perhaps we could move our Transfiguration lesson to tomorrow afternoon instead. It would mean a Saturday lesson… but it seems a shame to waste such excellent weather for flying.'

'Brilliant!' Harry agreed enthusiastically, already pushing his plate aside. 'I'll get my broom!'

'No need,' Minerva assured him, clapping her hands. Mina appeared in an instant, clutching both broomsticks with a toothy grin. 'I had thought you might agree.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Several glorious hours of sunshine later, Harry sat in his chamber in the headmaster's quarters – bathed and changed and with a significantly improved mood despite his last half-hour's effort.

He blew on the final paragraph of his essay, conscious that any smudged ink would lose him points. He tested the last full stop with the pad of his thumb. Finding it free of unwanted freckle, he released the end of the scroll with a sigh. It bounced once as it furled itself up again against the spine of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_.

Harry groaned, cracking his neck and massaging his slightly cramping hand. He glanced at his battered old wristwatch – one of the last remaining relics of his days with the Dursleys. Through the scratched surface, he watched the minute hand inch toward the hour.

Just in time for Albus, then.

Dumbledore's lessons, unlike Minerva's and Snape's, had not followed a regular timetable this summer – the headmaster's frequent need to visit the Ministry and handle last minute preparations for the Triwizard Tournament made it too difficult to set consistent times to meet. Instead, Albus had been informing Harry of their appointments the night before, or sometimes the morning of. As Harry had only the one ongoing assignment in Runes and had not yet learned enough to make headway in the ancient book, this erratic scheduling did not bother him much.

Between the new lessons in Ancient Runes that he was still struggling to comprehend, his regular tutorials with Minerva and Snape, the almost nightly work on Occlumency and the trials of the summer thus far, Harry had nearly forgotten about Dumbledore's promise to teach him how to 'attune' to Magic.

So, when Harry came down into the study late on Friday afternoon, somewhat mentally drained from the vicious revising of his summer Potions assignment (for, temporary reprieve or not, he had a nasty feeling Snape would require it sooner or later), he was at first surprised to find the circular room devoid of open Runic syllabaries.

Instead, Dumbledore stood smiling in front of his desk. A collection of small wooden chests with brass handles was laid out on the floor before him, each of the individual objects on its own raised dais. Harry counted them curiously as he descended the spiral staircase. There were seven in all.

'No Runes today?' Harry asked, jumping the last of the steps.

Albus shook his head. 'Not this afternoon,' he said. 'Today, I thought we might return to our lessons on the nature of Magic. More precisely, the study of how to attune to Magic.'

Harry stepped a bit closer, highly intrigued. The headmaster smiled.

'These chests,' he said, indicating the seven before him, 'Are identical in every way. They have each been spelled with the same locking charm, and each contain two similar items.'

'What items?' Harry asked curiously, trying not to lose his enthusiasm as the headmaster's description reminded him strongly of those frustrating months the previous year in the dungeons.

Albus' eyes twinkled. 'Two phials,' he revealed. 'Each encasing a memory.'

Harry grinned. 'More memories?' he asked excitedly. 'Of my parents?'

'And of your childhood,' Albus modified. 'They are gifts. As we are so close to your birthday, I thought I would make them a part of this lesson. There are fourteen, this time. I had thought, perhaps, you would like to make last year's gift something of a tradition.'

'I would,' Harry agreed, looking longingly at the sealed chests. 'I really, really would…'

'Very good,' said Albus. He placed a hand on the chest closest to him. 'Half of this year's are from Sirius,' he continued. 'As he did not have the chance to contribute to your first trove. I myself have added two; Minerva has contributed another; Remus gave three more and the final memory comes from Bathilda. They have been scrambled and stowed at random – even I do not know which chest contains which phials.'

'Okay…' said Harry, still rather confused. 'So… what do I have to do, then? You said the chests were locked – am I to open them?'

'You are,' Albus agreed. 'But as I understand you have mastered several unlocking charms both with and without your wand, that is not the subject of this lesson.'

Harry stared, curious. Albus fingered the chest again.

'Each casket,' he explained, 'Has been spelled with the same charm – a basic _Colloportus_. The challenge is not in the unlocking, Harry, but in devising _who_ has cast the spell. That is your task this afternoon.'

Harry frowned. 'But – how can I do that, sir? Where do I start?'

Albus moved away from the table, toward his usual armchair in front of the hearth. He gestured Harry to sit on the sofa opposite. With one last, longing look at the little treasure chests, Harry followed him. The headmaster rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers, adopting the characteristic pose that Harry so often associated with impending wisdom.

'Before we embark on the task I have devised for today,' Albus said, 'I think it would be prudent to give an overview of what, precisely, it means to attune to Magic.'

'Er… yeah,' Harry agreed, grinning rather sheepishly. 'Yeah, I think that might help, sir.'

Albus nodded, smiling slightly himself. 'Then let me begin by asking you, Harry – when you have landed in perilous circumstance, which we both know has been too often for comfort,' he added, tilting his head to level a sharp gaze, 'Have you ever found yourself acting based on instinct?'

Harry frowned in reply. 'Well… yeah,' he agreed, shrugging. 'Of course. Most of the time, I'm acting _only_ on gut instinct, I reckon.'

'No,' Albus disagreed, shaking his head. 'Or, rather, your 'instincts' are not those of a – for lack of a better phrase – 'usual' wizard. They never have been. It is part of the reason you have been able to survive such treacherous situations.'

Harry continued to frown. 'What do you mean?'

Albus' smile broadened. 'Perhaps you have merely considered yourself uncannily lucky?'

This time, Harry snorted. 'If I were lucky, I wouldn't wind up in such danger every other minute.'

Albus' smile faltered somewhat, but his eyes still twinkled as he inclined his head. 'Perhaps not,' he amended. 'But even so, when you _have_ faced such extraordinary – even deadly – dangers, you have managed, each time, to survive.' Distinct pride shone in his face as he looked at Harry. 'You are, perhaps, too young still to realise just how remarkable that is, my dear boy.'

Harry felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment. 'Not really,' he mumbled, breaking eye contact. 'Loads of times it was because someone else arrived, or Fawkes did… or because my mother's blood –'

'And each of those factors is vital,' Albus said. 'We must never discount the value of aide – particularly assistance from our friends and loved ones. There is no shame in needing such help, whether it be physical or otherwise. No man wins a war he fights alone.'

Harry gave a wan smile.

'But that is not my point,' Albus went on with a sigh. 'Though it may be true, it is not the only common thread that unites your accomplishments to date.'

'But I don't –'

'What drove you to look in the Mirror, the day you found Quirrell attempting to steal the philosopher's stone?' Albus interrupted. 'What prompted you to destroy Tom Riddle's diary with the fang of a basilisk?'

'I… I don't know,' Harry admitted, frowning at the headmaster. 'I suppose it _was_ instinct. I just knew… well, the first time, I knew I _wanted_ to get the Stone before Voldemort. I thought the Mirror could show me how. The diary…' He thought back to the Chamber with a small shudder. 'I picked it up off the floor,' he remembered. 'We were duelling – Riddle and I. Fawkes dropped the fang at my feet and… and I just knew,' he finished with a small shrug. 'I picked it up, and I knew what I had to do.'

Dumbledore nodded, still smiling at him.

'Have you never wondered what it is that gives your instincts such amazing accuracy?' he asked. 'Have you never wondered why you are able – to use the common phrase – to trust your gut?'

'Yeah…' Harry said slowly. 'Yeah, I've wondered…'

'It is because of your ability to attune to magic,' Albus told him. 'Your instincts are an unconscious manifestation of this very talent, Harry.'

'But how can that be?' he asked in confusion. 'I've never learnt, except that one day in France.'

Albus shook his head. 'You have not been taught to hone it,' he agreed. 'You do not yet know how to consciously use your skill, or use it to its greatest extent. But the talent – like your ability to use wandless spellwork – remains a part of your magic, my boy. As with wandless magic, most wizards of a certain calibre can be taught the skill, to a point. But for those with the gift, it is far less limited. It is in your very being. You were born with it.'

Harry chewed doubtfully at his lip. 'But… I still don't understand,' he admitted. 'What exactly does it _do_ , this attuning thing? What's the point of it?'

'The point…' Albus repeated, stroking at his beard. 'An interesting question, and one I am afraid I cannot entirely answer. The talent is, as I say, innate. Like many magical gifts, it does not always present identically among those who possess the skill. In essence, however, this talent will give you the ability to sense magic; to connect with the world on a different level. You can feel magical auras. You have an instinctual recognition of what is powerful, and what is mundane. You can sense, to some degree, what is light and what is dark, by attuning to the essence of the magic itself – feeling for the intent of its caster. And you will – in time – learn the incalculable power of certain acts.'

Harry swallowed hard. 'And… and you can teach me all that?' he asked dubiously.

Albus bowed his head. 'I can, to a certain extent.'

'But –'

'And what I cannot,' Albus went on before he could speak, 'I can assist you to teach yourself. It is, as I have warned, a fairly individual process.'

'So… that's what this is, then?' Harry asked, nodding vaguely in the direction of the abandoned chests. 'This is about learning… er, magical attuning and instincts and such?'

' _This_ , Harry,' Albus said, his smile even broader, 'Is the study of the nature of Magic. It is a lifetime art; as is the very practise of Magic itself. It is ever changing; ever evolving… and it shall grow with your own powers. I myself am still learning, well more than a century on from the day my father began to instruct me.'

'Your… your father taught this to you?' Harry repeated, shocked.

Albus inclined his head. 'He did,' he confirmed. 'He taught all three of us from our infancy. And now, I shall pass it on to you.'

Harry stared. It was only the second time he had ever heard Albus mention his father, apart from Hallowe'en the previous year, when the headmaster had revealed that painful portion of his family history. He felt a deep sorrow for Albus at the reminder. Even the empathy, however, was infinitely eclipsed by the swell of pride and happiness that filled Harry's chest at the words.

Over the past two years, Harry knew he had been given an immense opportunity. He did not know any other pupil at Hogwarts to have studied directly from the headmaster, and he was certain many would have given their wand arm to do so. He knew he had learned far more defensive spellwork than most students his age; studied Runes and magical history at the headmaster's side… But in the many invaluable magical lessons the venerable wizard had taught him – this was the greatest honour. Not because this was advanced work, or rare magic. This was far more personal.

This was _family_.

'So,' Albus said, clapping his hands together and sitting up a bit straighter – ending the spell of the moment. 'To the lesson, then.'

Harry shook his head slightly and shifted on the sofa to listen.

'To attune to Magic is to understand Magic; to understand Magic is to grasp its nature – a nature divided not into good and evil, or light and dark, but infinitely complex and intertwined. Different magics and different spells produce different effects, and must be sensed in different ways. Auras, meanwhile, are how we define the magic of any one individual – the outward essence, if you will, of said individual's magical core. When we speak of 'attuning' to magic in reference to an individual's _spellwork_ , rather than the individual themselves, we often talk of the witch or wizard's magical signature.'

'Right,' agreed Harry, though he was only vaguely familiar with most of the terms.

Albus' twinkling eyes suggested he was aware of Harry's budding confusion, but he moved on all the same. 'You will remember, I hope, our first foray into attuning to magic?'

Harry nodded. 'In France,' he recalled. 'You had me feel the wall for the portal.'

'Indeed,' said Albus. 'At that time, I had asked you to feel with your own Magic to sense where in the stone the magic existed. That is the simplest form of such an exercise – the detection of magical presence.'

Harry nodded again.

'In this case,' Dumbledore continued, 'I have already told you that the caskets are enchanted. The spell is currently active, which shall make it easier to attune. What I wish is for you to use your senses – applying the same principle as you did in France – to recognise not Magic generally, but the magical signature of the caster. The Magical Core, as you know, is individual. No two witches or wizards have the same magical core, even in the case of identical twins.'

'I remember,' said Harry. 'You told me that once, when you first explained Occlumency.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'And thus, no two wizards leave the same magical mark – in other words, a magical signature is always unique. It is possible for a highly skilled witch or wizard to mask his or her magical signature, but it cannot be altered to represent another's.'

'Okay…' Harry said slowly. He thought he could see, vaguely, what Dumbledore was getting at.

The headmaster tapped the tips of his fingers together, considering Harry closely. 'Because of this unique attribute,' he went on, 'It is possible to discern which witch or wizard has cast a particular spell, or to sense for magic by searching for a witch or wizard's magical signature. To do so, of course, comes with one obvious barrier. Have you spotted it?'

Harry frowned. 'Well… if you can, er, attune to magic, you should always be able to tell when there's magic present, right?'

'With some rare cloaking exceptions, sometimes also surmountable,' Albus qualified, nodding his encouragement.

'But…' Harry went on, puzzling on it. 'Well, if you didn't _know_ the magical signature, how could you determine whose it is?'

Albus smiled. 'Quite so,' he confirmed. 'Without a base to relate to, the essence of a magical signature is just that – an unknown. It is comparable, perhaps, to scent. You know well the delicious aroma of treacle tart, I would imagine.' He paused to wink at Harry's expression of hunger. 'But if I were to present you with a covered dish containing medu vada, for example, you would likely find the sweet scent mouth-watering; you would recognise there was sugar, perhaps feel that the dish was warm… and yet I doubt you could tell me what it contained.'

'What's medu vada?' Harry asked curiously.

'An Indian pudding,' Albus explained. 'But the point is – you recognise that which you have known before. The unfamiliar treat may appeal to you and may even contain notes that you can identify; but without prior exposure, you could not name it.'

'I understand,' Harry said. 'You're saying I could only feel someone's – er – Magical Signature – if I'd known them before?'

'Not entirely,' Albus disagreed. 'You could only _recognise_ the signature if you'd _encountered_ it before. And only then, in all likelihood, if you had taken the time to register its tenets in the first instance. You would of course be able to sense a magical signature in any type of enchantment; but without exposure to is caster in the past, those properties would hold no significance to your ability to identify the perpetrator of the instant spell. Do you see the difference?'

'Er… I guess,' Harry said uncertainly.

Albus smiled again. 'The chests,' he said, returning at long last to the task at hand, 'Have each been spelled shut by a different witch or wizard – all individuals with whom you have familiarity. As this is merely your first attempt, I have chosen only those whose magic you have had a great deal of exposure to. Your task in this lesson is to identify the person who has sealed each chest. A correct identification, and a subsequent demonstration of your wandless unlocking ability, shall earn you the reward of the chest's contents.'

He stood, and Harry copied. He followed the headmaster back to the daises. Dumbledore gestured him forward.

'Which should I start with?' Harry asked, approaching the nearest casket.

'There is no intended order,' Dumbledore assured him. When Harry continued to frown at the chests, his hand hovering oddly half-out before him, the headmaster smiled.

'If I may make a suggestion,' Albus said, 'I would let the magic guide you. You shall know when you recognise a signature.'

Still feeling rather foolish, Harry shrugged. He approached the first dais and placed his hand on the lid of the chest. Nothing happened. He could feel the cool, polished wood beneath his fingers; the hinge of iron that closed it tight… but no 'sensation' of magic struck him. Wondering if perhaps it was the chest itself, he moved instead to the next and repeated his actions. Still, nothing seemed to change.

Harry wanted to turn and ask Albus – but he did not. Instead, he shut his eyes, trying to remember what it was the headmaster had said in France.

 _'You are searching with your eyes; feeling with your hand. You must feel with your Magic, Harry… Use your own Magical Core… Trust your instincts.'_

He remembered too what Snape had snarled at him in their very first session on Wandless Magic – when Snape had been trying to teach him to connect with his Magical Core.

 _'Weren't you listening, Potter? I_ can't _tell you how to do it – not this first part. You have to discover it on your own!_ '

So Harry set his hand on the edge of the third casket's lid, letting his palm rest over the keyhole – where he assumed the sealing spell would reside. Trying to emulate both the sensation in France and the method he used in wandless magic, he let out a deep breath and closed his eyes.

He felt it. It was faint, at first – like the initial attempt he'd made to hover the feather toward Snape's first hoop. He tried to concentrate on the wisp he felt, willing it to magnify.

'Do not overthink it,' Dumbledore advised in a whisper, startling Harry to wide-eyed attention once more as he felt the headmaster's hand rest on his shoulder. 'You are not manipulating the magic, Harry – you are letting it speak to you. Relax… and it shall come.'

Harry nodded. Albus withdrew his hand, and Harry set his own back on the chest. He closed his eyes again.

The sensation was similar to wandless magic, yet vastly different. Where in the dungeons he was learning to project from his Magical Core, now he felt as though he were drawing the magic in. The sensation suggested it should feel like a more passive process, and yet Harry had never experienced anything _less_ passive in his life.

It was like being hit with that first powerful wave of heat when one entered the castle from a snowy day; the first gust of wind as he rocketed into the sky on his broomstick; the plummeting of missing a step; the exhilaration of freedom at the end of exams… Harry could not decide. Perhaps all at once. The assault on his senses was so acute, that it took him several moments to recognise _anything_ but the feeling of magic itself. That he could have rested his hand in this exact spot moments before and felt nothing seemed utterly impossible.

'Very good,' Albus approved quietly. Harry did not have to open his eyes to know that he was smiling. 'Now… tell me what you feel.'

'Magic,' Harry answered at once. 'Loads of it…'

Albus chuckled lightly. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'None of the casters were attempting to hide their spellwork. You should have no difficulty in detecting magical presence. Look farther, Harry. What do you _recognise_?'

Harry frowned, shifting his fingers over the lid of the chest. The magic felt… warm; perhaps earthy. It was a gentle sort of spellwork; and, for some reason, he could almost taste chocolate…

'Remus,' he decided after several long minutes. 'It's Remus' spell.'

He opened his eyes. Albus twinkled at him as Harry explained the sensation. 'It is indeed Remus' charm,' the headmaster agreed. 'Collect your prize, then.'

' _Alohomora_ ,' Harry muttered, his hand on the lock again. The lid of the chest sprang open, and Harry pocketed the two silver phials inside with a grin.

The next chest was easier, both because Harry was used to the sensation of 'feeling' the magic and because he recognised its caster's signature almost at once. Her mark was more complex than Remus' had been, and not quite as gentle… but Harry felt protection and strength in the spell.

'It's Minerva's,' he announced. Albus replied by conjuring a larger, wooden chest, into which Harry placed both his first two phials and the acquisitions from the second casket.

The third was the simplest yet. Harry had barely to touch the surface of the chest before the headmaster's familiar, soothing power encased him – phoenix balm in all but song. This was Albus' magic as Harry had come to know and love; without the terrible anger that had permeated the castle the previous night. He grinned as he claimed his next prize, beginning to think this lesson was far easier than Dumbledore's instructions had forewarned.

But the fourth casket stumped him. Harry knew he recognised something in the signature, but he could not place the sensation. The magic felt playful; yet with something formidable behind it. Not dark… or, at least, he didn't think so… but perhaps underestimated; perhaps purposely so. Harry spent a good half an hour at the dais, pondering the keyhole with his fingers. At last, he gave it up.

'Can I come back to this one?' he asked, opening his eyes to turn to Dumbledore.

'You may,' Albus agreed easily. 'I had thought this casket might prove more difficult for you.'

Harry stepped toward the fifth, giving the previous casket a resentful glower. He set his palm on the new quarry instead.

A rush of magic hit him again… familiar – almost as much so as Albus' spell. But this was different. This was no phoenix balm; no soothing comfort.

This was darker.

Or… was it light?

Harry frowned, his eyes squeezed shut. Something in the spell was achingly familiar; like recognising a friend he had lost long ago… a kinship, even, that he had forgotten. It was not a pleasant feeling – or, at least, not entirely. It was beautiful and tragic all at once.

But there was something else in this spell too… something that made Harry feel faintly ill. It seeped like a shadow through the magic; spreading its pestilence and corroding the rest. A sharp pain shot though his head.

And Harry stopped. He pulled his hand back with a disgusted jerk, glaring at the innocent chest.

'Snape's,' he growled, massaging his palm. 'It's Snape's chest.'

' _Professor_ Snape, Harry,' Albus reminded him gently.

Harry scowled. 'After that rubbish –'

'He remains a professor,' Albus interrupted, though he did not look too stern. 'Whatever transgressions he has to atone for.'

Harry cast his unlocking spell again – not even noticing in his anger that he'd done it nonverbally.

'His magic is noxious,' he said stubbornly, reaching in to rescue the precious memories from their corrupted home. 'It's evil. I could feel it.'

'Is it?' Albus asked mildly, holding out the wooden chest for Harry to place the phials inside. 'Are you certain? Is that what you felt from the spell?'

Harry tucked the silvery phials carefully in among the velvet. Albus was watching him closely.

'I felt enough,' he decided, pressing the lid shut. 'This time and the last.'

'The antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components,' Albus quoted, slipping the catch himself. 'That is Golpalott's third law.'

Harry crossed his arms. 'You're telling me to trust Sn – Professor Snape's magic, based on some Potioneer's rule for brewing poison cures? You want me to _forget_ what he did to me?'

'Antidotes,' Albus corrected. 'Not cures. And no, Harry, I am not. Nor do I forget the foolish miscalculations Severus has recently made.'

'Then what are you –'

'I merely point out, my dear child, that a man is more than the sum of his mistakes,' Albus said softly. 'Professor Snape has made many. I myself have made even more. But what type of wizard one grows to be – what type of man he becomes – is not a measure of what he has done alone; but also what he chooses to do to right that path. Our missteps are meant to guide us and to remind us. But they do not define us. To know what a man has done and to know what a man is are very different things, Harry.'

'It doesn't matter,' Harry said, still grinding his teeth. 'I felt what I felt, sir. And it was wrong.'

'Perhaps,' Albus said. 'But that was not the only component to Severus' signature. Nor is it the sum of Severus as a man. He is not a dark wizard – and I very much doubt you could have missed that.'

Harry hesitated. Albus was looking intently at him once more, but Harry could not give in. 'It doesn't change what happened,' he insisted. 'It doesn't change the past. He can't take it back.'

'Nothing changes what has already been written,' Albus agreed. 'But when we atone, Harry; when we feel remorse for our own mistakes; and when we forgive others theirs… It is the future that we change.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Seventeen**

 **Guest** : Thanks for your review! Glad you are enjoying the story and are intrigued by Fawkes' role… I hope you like where it ends up. Enjoy the next chapter!

 **BlueWater5** : Thanks for reviewing! Happy you liked the way the confrontation played out. As to Snape's moment of PTSD there at the end – yes, I think Albus did notice and understand, at least in part, what Severus was thinking there. Although the scene is from Severus' perspective, and I do not think Severus registers Albus' recognition entirely, the small gesture at the end where he squeezes his shoulder lightly before departing was meant to convey reassurance. Albus is furious – and that fury is not easily set aside… but he is not Tom Riddle. And he _does_ care for Severus, even though he is deeply angry with him. I hope you like Chapter Eighteen!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed reading the scolding, haha. I hope you like the next chapter.

 **Mrrp01** : Thanks for reviewing! Haha, Greek mythology and history is interesting… but _learning_ Ancient Greek? I must say, sometimes not so much. Of course, that does not mean it wasn't ultimately good for us. Glad you are enjoying the story, and I hope you'll like Chapter Eighteen!

 **StormOwlRage** : Thank you for your review! Yes, Severus did not pick the opportune moment for his rash action here. I'm not sure Albus went _easy_ on him… but I suppose compared to what he _could_ have done, he was enormously merciful. He did not physically harm him, at any rate. Then again – while certainly it was inopportune timing given the trials Albus' temper had already endured this night, it was at least fortunate for Severus that Albus had already _lost_ his temper, and regretted the moment without control. He is perhaps more furious than he has yet been this evening, but that loss of control is no longer at issue.

Harry's reaction – now I'm glad you've raised that. I don't think anyone else yet had, but for me this was perhaps more telling even than Severus' response. It does, I think, reflect on Harry's subconscious response to anger – especially in authority or parental (loose interpretation of that word) figures; for Harry was abused, mostly psychologically, but also physically, by the Dursleys. Of course, Albus' anger is _not_ directed at him here, but Harry doesn't immediately realise that. Would he have stood up for Snape? Hmm… perhaps, but perhaps not. Snape _had_ just violated his mind… and while they have been less antagonistic lately, they aren't exactly mates.

Ariana. It's an interesting parallel – and a true one, I think – to compare her plight to those who suffer from dementia or debilitating disease of the mind. It is painful for the family to watch, and heart-breaking to watch the family in turn. We usually see Ariana only in background – she is discussed by other characters, but she only really plays a central role in the scene in her volatile and beastly state. I wanted to introduce the Fawkes-Ariana concept through a moment like this, however – and to give Albus that moment of peace with her. Albus is so rarely on his own with her, especially when she is stable and calm. As to Fawkes… well, the implications and/or consequences of this conversation shall be revealed in time. I cannot answer your specific queries, naturally, without risking spoilers – but I _can_ certainly tell you that I _shall_ tell you, and in this book. On a separate, though related subject: it is not coincidence that certain aspects of Ariana's nature and knowledge seem to remind you of Harry and his budding ability to attune to magic; nor is it coincidence that there are odd connections between her, Harry and Fawkes.

I hope you enjoy Chapter Eighteen!

 **GreenRider02** : Thank you so much for your review! Very glad that you have discovered the COH series, and that you are enjoying it so much! Your comments are greatly appreciated. I'm very happy to hear you've felt the story keeps the characterisations true and believable – it is a really important point for me in attempting to write something in this mad and delightful universe JKR has created, and it's really lovely to hear from readers who enjoy it. Ah now…. the fates of Sirius, Severus and Albus… well, I cannot say, of course. Living with these characters for the majority of my life; and now writing in their voice nearly every day… I promise I will be _crushed_ myself to part with any of them. That said – not all our POV characters will ultimately survive the conclusion of the series, whatever my secret desires. Whether any or all of the aforementioned three will be among the dead… we shall see.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy Chapter Eighteen!

 **EstelAshleeSnape** : Thanks for reviewing! Great to hear you enjoyed the last few chapters. Yes… Albus was definitely _not_ happy with Snape – I wouldn't have wanted to be in Severus' shoes either. As for Ariana… sadly yes, she is not long for this world. I hope you like Chapter Eighteen!

 **Alathenia** : Thank you for reviewing! I tend to agree on Severus – he _certainly_ had it coming for his rash actions; but of course, there should be some sympathy for him from the readers' perspective, because he does not have the easiest lot. Ah, the Muggle's fate. You know, I actually _almost_ killed her. I had written this chapter both ways – one version in which she lived, another in which she perished. Ultimately I went with the former. The main reason for this was simply that it was too soon, in the Albus-Gellert storyline of the past, for their twisted experiments and delusions of grandeur to crash and burn so abruptly. It needed to be vile; it needed to be terrible even… but she couldn't die. Having her survive gives credence to Geller's pushing Albus to his magical and psychological limits, and certainly will have implications in their developing story. Your questions are valid – and similar to those Aberforth puts to his brother on the staircase. In the background, of course, is the continued failure with his sister, and a growing desperation. This will all come to a head eventually. As to Fawkes' backstory – oh yes, we'll definitely follow that to its conclusion. I think (well, hope) that some readers will be surprised at how it plays out.

On Harry – oh yes, he is _furious_ at Snape. This was covered a bit more extensively in Chapter 16 than 17, only because in Chapter 17, Harry is rather preoccupied with Dumbledore's fury and with the contents of the dream itself. I think it's a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for him, which is why he has that odd, almost numb moment with the socks. He isn't exactly grateful… it's more of a detached sort of confusion. It will take him a bit of time to work through all his feelings from this night, but he definitely won't be forgetting, or forgiving, in a hurry.

Child of Hogwarts as I've mapped it thus far shall comprise Eight total Parts. So I'll be at this for some time yet! I do plan to continue past Harry's coming of age.

A happy Christmas and holiday season to you and yours as well, and I hope you enjoy Chapter Eighteen!

 **PandaHatBear** : Thank you for reviewing! Very glad to hear you've discovered the series and are enjoying it thus far. I hope you'll like Chapter Eighteen!

 **LordBan** : Thank you for the review! Very happy you liked the closing passage. My best wishes for you in the new year as well, and hope you enjoy the new chapter!

 **Guest** : Thanks for the note, and sorry to keep you waiting! I hope you like Chapter Eighteen!


	19. The Fleur-de-lis

**A/N:** As promised, another new chapter! I will attempt to have Chapter Twenty out in the next week or so, though I make no absolute promise. Hope you enjoy 'The Fleur-de-lis', and as always –

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER NINETEEN

 **THE FLEUR-DE-LIS**

As it turned out, the headmaster and Harry did not finish their lesson on Friday evening. Harry had more difficulty with the final two chests, and the toll of the previous five had begun to rapidly tire him. Albus paused the lesson after Harry's frustrating forty minutes with the seventh casket and suggested they head into supper. He wanted to review Occlumency in the evening, and so Harry did not get the chance to earn his final six memories until the following morning.

It took him three hours the next day. Harry recognised the sixth casket first – and felt a bit chagrined he had not picked out Sirius' spellwork earlier. The headmaster was less surprised, and pointed out that Harry had not actually seen Sirius perform that much magic – at least compared to the others in the group. A magical aura, he reminded Harry, was more difficult to attune to until one grew used to the sensation.

The fourth chest – which took Harry the longest and which he had skipped the previous day – turned out to have been enchanted by Professor Flitwick; while the seventh had been spelled shut by Madam Pomfrey. Harry supposed he had been unused to seeing the matron's magic in a context outside of Healing.

Dumbledore was very pleased at the end of the lesson, and he and Harry headed down to lunch. Harry thought his own cheeks were likely to strain from grinning at the thought of his wooden chest – full of new memories to explore. He reckoned this excitement might explain some of his jitters throughout the meal; though Albus had also warned that he was likely to feel a touch on edge for a time, in the wake of exercising his magical senses so vigorously.

Harry had just left the Great Hall – mind still focused impatiently on the prospect of Albus' Pensive and hoping Transfiguration did not take too long – when he turned straight into something solid in the entrance hall.

With a small 'oof!', he fell on his bum, skittering slightly on the flagstones.

'You ought to watch where you're going, boy,' a gruff voice growled out. 'Keep your head bowed and your eyes shut, and you might earn yourself more than a bruised tailbone.'

Before he could even straighten his glasses, Harry felt his entire body lifted up from the navel as though by an invisible hook. He was set on his feet again in less than a moment.

'Thank–' he started to say… but the words caught in his throat as he looked up to see his saviour.

The wizard was unfamiliar, and by all considerations utterly terrifying. He stood at average height, with broad shoulders and – Harry could tell from his own ribs – an unusually muscled chest for one apparently quite on in years. He held his wand aloft in gnarled fingers with nails that would have made Aunt Petunia screech. In the other hand, he clutched a walking staff nearly as tall as Harry was. Beneath the hem of a travelling cloak, Harry could see one leg ended in a clawed, wooden foot. A matt of grizzled, dark grey hair hung wild to his shoulders. And his face…

Harry had never seen anything like it – except, perhaps, on Muggle film.

Every inch was so badly marked and scarred that the man's expression was impossible to read. He might have been smirking, or grimacing… or, perhaps, the jagged mouth simply hung that way. His nose was misshapen – a large chunk hollowed from its side. One beady dark eye was focused on Harry's stunned face. The other – wide and electric blue – spun maddeningly in its socket, taking in the surrounding hall with a dizzying fervour.

'Something wrong with your tongue, boy?' the man asked, stowing his wand in a holster on his wrist and leaning slightly toward him. The blue eye swung round to peer at him too, looking him up and down. It didn't seem to blink. 'You'll be James' boy, no doubt there. He might've spat you out.'

Harry swallowed, taking a small step back. 'I…er, no, I mean yes,' he amended quickly, slightly behind. 'Harry Potter. I'm sorry I bumped you, sir. Er… Thanks for –'

'Ah, Alastor!'

Harry felt a wonderful wave of relief. The man straightened, his normal eye looking over Harry's shoulder toward the entrance to the Great Hall. The blue one kept its focus on Harry, but he himself turned at the greeting. Albus' arrival could not have been more welcome.

The headmaster winked at him.

'I see you have already met Harry,' he said to the man, nodding. 'Excellent, excellent.'

'We haven't been properly introduced,' the man grunted, giving an odd wheeze Harry supposed might have been a chuckle. 'But yeah – I bumped into him here right enough.'

' _You're_ Mad – er, Professor Moody?' Harry asked, shocked.

His cheeks reddened at the near insult, but Moody did not seem to mind.

'Aye, lad,' he agreed. 'Though I don't know that I can claim 'professor' just yet. Might just as well call me Mad-Eye, if you like.'

'I…' Harry hesitated, feeling his cheeks burn deeper.

Moody gave another of his wheezy chuckles. 'If I thought it was insulting, boy, there'd be nobody left to use it.'

Harry tried to smile at the joke, though the thought rather made him want to shudder instead.

Albus had reached them. He squeezed Harry's shoulder lightly. 'We have just finished luncheon,' he said, indicating the open door to the Great Hall behind him. 'But I would be happy to send for something if you wish.'

'No need,' Moody declined, shaking his head. He shifted so both hands clutched the walking staff, apparently taking the weight off his false leg. 'I already ate.'

'Of course,' Albus agreed, looking amused. 'Well, I do thank you for coming this afternoon, Alastor. If you would like, I can show you around the –'

'I remember the school right enough,' Moody interrupted. 'I'll have a look after. But I'll want to discuss the curriculum first, Albus. Some glaring gaps in the study of curses, if you ask me. Given all the intel of the past few years…'

'Certainly,' said the headmaster. 'Then perhaps we would do best to continue this conversation in my office.'

Harry, who had been watching the exchange with great curiosity, felt the hand on his shoulder clench.

'You had better make haste, Harry,' Albus encouraged with a twinkle. 'Minerva, bless her, was never well known for her patience.'

Harry stole a glance at his wristwatch and groaned. He was already six minutes past his scheduled time.

'Right,' he agreed, his trainers squeaking slightly as he backpedalled from the group. 'I'll er… I'll see you later then, headmaster. Professor Moody.'

Throwing one last glance over his shoulder at the curious Auror and Albus, Harry hurried off toward the grand staircase.

'You're tardy, Harry!'

Minerva's voice called out as Harry turned the last corner, sprinting up the corridor toward her open classroom door.

'Sorry,' Harry gasped out, clutching a stitch in his side as he reached the edge of the door at last. 'But I bumped into –'

'HARRY!'

His excuse was cut off as he was tackled by a sudden mass of robes and bushy brown hair that hurled itself through Minerva's open door. He barely had time to put his arms up to catch her. Laughing through his shock, Harry staggered slightly as he fought to balance them.

'Well I've missed you too, Hermione!' he said, grinning.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'He's a scrawny thing, isn't he?' Alastor commented as Albus shut the door. 'The Potter boy.'

The headmaster frowned. 'Not so much as he was a few years ago,' he defended. 'But Harry has had a growth spurt these past few months.'

Alastor flung a spot of dirt off the side of his staff. It shone for a moment on the carpet before dissipating. Albus heard a slight sniff from one of the portraits above them.

'Remus mentioned he'd be here,' the Auror put in. 'Interesting decision, Albus. So much effort for one child… Makes one wonder what's so special about this boy.'

'Harry is an orphan,' Albus answered. 'And he has never known anything but hardship with his mother's sister. What sort of headmaster would I have been, what sort of man, to allow such treatment to continue?'

Alastor grunted, throwing himself into a chair before the desk. 'You did not place him with others, Albus,' he pointed out. 'And there are dozens of proper, decent wizarding folk who would have taken him in gladly. But yet he is here, isn't he? Under your care, and under your instruction. I find that interesting enough.'

'Harry is the son of dear friends,' Albus said. 'And I gladly accept the responsibility for his care and upbringing. I would do it for that alone.'

'Aye, perhaps,' Moody agreed, though he looked doubtful. 'But that _isn't_ your only reason, is it Dumbledore?'

Albus smiled. 'It is the most important of them,' he said firmly. 'But you are a prudent man, Alastor. I very much doubt I should have need to spell out the other advantages to such an arrangement.'

Alastor plucked at his wiry beard, the blue eye spinning rapidly in its socket. On his perch in the corner, Fawkes was watching it closely. 'It's always been the boy, hasn't it, Albus,' he opined gruffly. 'Fourteen years… and you're still designing your life – all our lives – round his well-being.'

Albus took his own seat, smiling benignly. 'I do what I can for the betterment of the world, Alastor,' he corrected. 'For the protection of all men, and the suppression of evil. I live my life as you live yours, my friend, hoping I may secure some semblance of peace for our kind.'

'Quit the riddles, Albus,' Alastor demanded, leaning forward in his chair. 'You've dragged me from redundancy, haven't you? To teach this boy…'

'To teach _all_ the students, Alastor,' Albus corrected. 'Not just Harry. We must prepare all our children for what is coming.'

'But the Potter boy –'

'Harry will be targeted,' Albus confirmed. 'That much is inevitable. We all know that Lord Voldemort will seek his destruction above all others. He has already proven it.'

'And do you want that, Dumbledore?' Moody asked shrewdly, both normal and magical eye swivelling to stare him down. 'Is that what you train him for – the inevitable confrontation with Voldemort? Do you prepare him such that you might rest our fate on his scrawny shoulders?'

Albus met the gaze with his own unwavering serenity. 'I wish for Harry to be happy, and safe,' he answered truthfully. 'I wish to keep him alive, Alastor. Of course I do not relish the idea that Voldemort should come for him, but nor do I hide from the truth. Harry needs to be prepared. They all do.'

Moody pushed back in the chair, shifting his cloak from under him. 'Alright, Albus,' he grunted. 'Your way, then. But as long as we're discussing this lot of miscreants – we'd best discuss the curriculum. I had a look through those papers you sent over –'

'Excellent,' Albus approved, shifting a pile of parchment on his desk to locate his own copy. 'The broken instruction has definitely affected productivity. The O.W.L. examiners recently changed their –'

'I couldn't give a pile of doxy shit for the Board of Examiners,' Alastor dismissed, waving a calloused hand. 'What are tests and marks, in the age of darkness? If it's the Dark Arts you wish to prepare them for, Albus, we need to show them what they face.'

Albus stiffened. 'The Dark Arts shall never be taught at my school,' he said firmly. 'Not as long as I –'

'Hold your hippogriffs, Albus, I wasn't implying that,' Alastor assured him. 'Besides, seeing as you've invited Karkaroff to show his greasy head this term, I'm sure they'll be enough practical Dark Arts demonstrations to –'

'Alastor,' Albus interrupted warningly.

Moody grunted again. 'I want to teach curses,' he said bluntly. ' _All_ the curses, Albus. _Starting_ with the most dangerous. No point in deflecting a Bat Bogey Hex when the Cruciatus is still to come.'

Albus considered him over the tips of his fingers. 'Illegal curses are generally not covered until O.W.L. year,' he said. 'And the Unforgiveables, per Ministry regulation, are not shown until sixth year. For those students, obviously –'

'I want to move that up,' Moody interrupted. 'Illegals in the second year, Albus. Unforgiveables for third form students. Who cares that the Ministry would prefer? If we are on the brink of war as you believe… well, would you rather they learned the hard way?'

Albus tapped his fingers together, looking away toward the phoenix. Fawkes stared balefully back, unhelpfully silent. Behind him, the portraits began tittering on the wall, offering undertone advice. Albus held up a hand to quiet them.

'The suggestion is not without merit,' he acknowledged. Alastor's face broke into a wide grin. 'But I shall not allow those parameters,' Albus qualified.

'Dumbledore –'

'I shall permit you to lecture on illegal curses and hexes to the third form students,' he clarified. 'And you may discuss the Unforgivable three with our fourth year classes.'

'That'll be your chosen one's form then, won't it, Albus?' Alastor asked, smirking.

'Yes,' Albus agreed, already slightly regretting the modification as he recalled Harry's experiences under the Cruciatus curse – twice in the past year alone.

But this was precisely why he'd brought the ex-Auror to the castle. This was what he had desired – what he himself had known must be taught. The age of innocence was drawing to a close, whether he was prepared or not. Already, somewhere in Britain, Tom Riddle sulked toward his resurrection.

'Yes,' he repeated heavily. 'It is time they learned.'

'Constant vigilance,' Moody agreed, nodding. 'Best defence to death there is.'

'There is no defence to death except to live well, Alastor,' Albus disagreed. 'But we might attempt to delay the moment.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow?' Harry asked, still laughing as Hermione finally released her stranglehold on his neck.

'I wasn't,' she said, pushing curls behind her ears and starting a rapid-fire explanation. 'But then my parents decided to go to some conference in Portree, and they weren't keen to leave me on my own until tomorrow, even though I'm nearly fifteen –' She rolled her eyes in apparent exasperation. 'And so I thought well, perhaps I'd ask Ron if I could stay at the Burrow for a night and we could come together tomorrow – and then Professor McGonagall called last night, and when she heard my parents would be out of town today, she asked if I'd like to come a day early!'

'Brilliant!' Harry said, grinning between her and Minerva. The Transfiguration professor was wearing a very smug expression. 'Er… what were you doing at Hermione's though?' he asked her curiously.

Minerva tapped a scroll on her desk with a crimson-nailed finger. Harry was momentarily startled – he did not think he had ever seen Professor McGonagall with a manicure.

'Timetables for next term,' she explained. 'I wished to discuss Ms Granger's course selections.'

Harry furrowed his brow. 'But, surely you don't usually discuss the timetables in person?' he asked in confusion. 'I mean, a letter might have –'

'Harry, don't be impolite!' Hermione hissed, nudging his side with her elbow.

But Minerva was smiling. 'Ms Granger's mother wrote the school,' she went on. 'She wished to set a meeting to discuss her daughter's academics.'

Hermione sighed. 'Muggle parents are a bit more involved,' she explained, her cheeks slightly pink. 'At Muggle school, I mean. And my parents… well, they're very happy I'm here,' she qualified quickly, 'But it's a bit hard for them to understand it all, you see. They just want to make sure that I've enrolled in what I ought to –'

'It should not cause you embarrassment, Ms Granger,' the professor interrupted firmly. 'I wish all parents were as concerned with their children's academic performance. It was a visit I was more than happy to make.'

Hermione smiled gratefully.

'So… no lesson, then?' Harry inquired, giving Minerva a hopeful eyebrow raise.

'Oh no!' Hermione protested at once. 'No – I was ever so excited when Professor McGonagall told me, Harry. And she said I might join you!'

'Did she?' Harry asked, eyes still pleading in their focus on the professor. 'Well, that sounds like… fun…'

Minerva straightened her spectacles on the bridge of her nose. 'Your enthusiasm overwhelms me, Harry,' she said dryly. 'But yes, as a matter of fact, I rather think Ms Granger's presence will greatly assist in the lesson I have planned for this afternoon.'

'What are you going to teach us, professor?' asked Hermione, taking out her wand.

Harry, watching the beaming smile spreading over Hermione's face, knew it was pointless to protest. He shook his head in exasperation, though he could not help a small smile of his own as he tugged his phoenix wand free from Remus' holster. He twirled it round in his fingers while he waited for Minerva to speak.

'The Stunning Spell.'

Harry stopped twiddling his wand. 'The Stunning Spell,' he repeated, frowning. 'But… well, that's more Defence Against the Dark Arts, isn't it?'

Minerva, who was conjuring a rather large stack of tartan printed cushions, gave him a stern look over the square rim of her spectacles. 'Harry. I have been a professor at this school for thirty-eight years, spent half my life fighting the Dark Arts, and worked for the Ministry of Magic,' she said primly.

'You worked for the Min-'

'Irrelevant,' Minerva interrupted. 'My point is, I have expertise in a great number of magical fields. Did you really think I could teach only in Transfiguration?'

'Er… no,' Harry assured her, grinning. 'I mean, you've been teaching me Charms for two summers as well, so…'

He gave up his teasing in the face of McGonagall's thinning mouth.

'Of course I know you can teach Defence,' he amended quickly. 'I'm only joking.'

'And Stunning will be so interesting!' put in Hermione excitedly. 'I mean, I thought it's not normally taught until O.W.L. year, but it will be ever so useful to know… Don't you think so, Harry?'

'Er – yeah,' Harry agreed, quite honestly. 'Yeah, I think it would be brilliant.'

'I thank you for your approval,' Minerva said sarcastically, though the corner of her mouth twitched. 'Now, as I was saying… It is fortuitous to have a partner in such a lesson. For, naturally, casting the Stunning Spell requires a target to stun. We shall review the theory, and then each of you shall take turns casting the spell. I shall also teach you to reverse the effects.'

Harry thought back to his lessons during his first summer at the castle, when Dumbledore had been teaching him Defence and allowed Harry to practise the hexes and jinxes on him. He smiled to himself. Somehow, he could not imagine Minerva would be particularly keen on the idea of permitting Harry to stun _her_ unconscious.

'Now, which of you can tell me the theory behind the Stunning Spell?'

Predictably, Hermione raised her hand. Harry coughed rather audibly. 'Er… Hermione?' he prompted in a stage whisper. 'You know, you don't have to do that. We're not in a usual lesson.'

Hermione brought her hand slowly down. 'Right,' she agreed with a sheepish smile. 'Sorry.'

'Ms Granger?' the professor invited.

Hermione cleared her throat. 'The Stunning Spell – or Stunning Charm – is used to render the victim temporarily unconscious,' she recited with her usual aplomb. 'Although technically categorised as a charm, it's taught in Defence Against the Dark Arts, because it is most commonly used in duelling to incapacitate one's opponent. It can also be used in Healing, to render a patient unconscious, though that's usually only done in emergency medical situations where there's no potion immediately available, or if the person can't take a potion for some reason.'

'Very good,' Minerva approved. 'I expect you can give me the incantation?'

' _Stupefy_ ,' Hermione replied at once. 'The wand movement is a quick, shallow arch.'

'And to restore the victim?' Minerva encouraged.

' _Rennervate_ ,' Harry answered, before Hermione could speak.

Both witches looked vaguely surprised. Harry shrugged. 'I've heard Albus talk about it before.'

'Quite so,' Minerva agreed with a nod. ' _Rennervate_ is a general restorative or awakening charm, and it can be used to return those who have been stunned to animation. There is also, of course, another cure. Ms Granger?'

Hermione was practically bouncing on her toes with eagerness. 'Time,' she replied. 'The Stunning Spell is only a temporary incapacitation. The length of the charm can vary, depending on the strength of the spell and the magic of the witch or wizard upon whom it has been cast. It lasts longest when cast on Muggles, but even a Muggle will recover on his or her own after the spell wears off.'

'Precisely,' Minerva approved. 'Now, there are several defences one can use against a Stunning Spell. What might those be?'

'A Shield Charm?' Harry guessed.

'In some cases,' said Minerva. 'A strong Shield Charm can repel most Stunning Spells, although its efficacy is largely dependant on the relative strengths of the duelling wizards. Certain types of magical beings are also impervious to Stunning.'

'Giants,' Hermione put in. 'I've read about it in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.'

'And dragons,' Harry added, thinking back on a conversation he'd had with Ron about his brother Charlie's work in Romania. 'It takes a lot of wizards at once to subdue a dragon.'

'Yes,' said Minerva. 'Giants, Dragons, Trolls, Centaurs and several other magical beasts all have a natural resistance to the Stunning Spell. Their skin – or hides, as the case may be – repels magical attack. In most cases, it is necessary to augment the power of the spell with the assistance of wizarding companions. Casting simultaneously with other witches or wizards amplifies the magic, where one sorcerer alone is not enough. Which brings me to another point on Stunning. Though the spell alone is not dangerous –'

'Unless you happen to cast it at someone over a pit of asps,' Harry amended in an undertone.

'The circumstances might present a danger,' Minerva agreed, though she gave him a sharp look of reproach for his interruption. 'But under usual conditions, a single Stunner will incapacitate the victim without risking serious damage. It can, however, be very dangerous to cast simultaneous Stunning Spells upon an ordinary witch or wizard. As we have already discussed, doing so amplifies the magic. Against another witch or wizard, this can cause serious, sometimes irreparable damage. It can even prove fatal. I would like you, therefore, to approach this spell with great caution. It can be a valuable tool, but it is not to be taken lightly. Should I ever come across either of you utilising the spell in a frivolous manner, you shall find yourself in detention for the remainder of your days at this school. Is that understood?'

'Yes,' Harry said, just as Hermione breathed, 'Yes, ma'am.' They exchanged slightly nervous glances.

Minerva gave a stiff nod. 'Very well.'

She had them practise the wand movement first, without incantation. They went through the motions several times, while Minerva corrected the angle of their arch. When the professor was satisfied, she had them repeat the incantation without the wands. Once they were able to imitate her precisely, she directed them toward the back of the classroom, where she had arranged the tartan cushions in a pile upon the floor.

Hermione went first. Harry positioned himself in the middle of the cushions, trying not to seem too apprehensive as he checked his stance from all angles.

'I shall insure you do not injure yourself,' Minerva promised him, barely concealing her smirk.

Harry scowled.

'Alright, Ms Granger, on the count of three,' she said. 'One, two, three…'

Harry shut his eyes as he heard Hermione begin to shout. The next thing he knew, he was blinking up into Hermione's slightly concerned face.

'Are you alright?' she asked, biting at her lower lip.

'Course I am,' Harry assured her as he pushed himself onto his elbows. 'Well done.'

'You were out so long,' she hurried on anxiously. 'I couldn't get that _Rennervate_ charm for ages.'

'Was I?' Harry asked, glancing at the clock on Minerva's mantel. He was shocked to see that more than a quarter of an hour appeared to have passed. 'Blimey,' he said. 'It felt like a second.'

'Excellent, Ms Granger,' Minerva complimented, holding out her hand to assist Harry off the floor. 'Your turn, Harry.'

Harry helped Hermione reshape the mountain of cushions. He was just as careful as he had been before his own Stunning. He might not remember his time in unconsciousness, but he knew well enough he'd had no control over which direction he fell. Hermione gave him a grateful smile as she took her place in the centre of the tartan ring.

'Concentrate now, Harry,' Minerva instructed. 'And remember not to dip your wrist at the end of wand movement. On the count of three. One, two, three…'

' _Stupefy_!' Harry cried.

A bright scarlet light shot out of the end of his wand. It hit Hermione squarely in the chest – who, like Harry, had squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of the spell. The force of the spell turned her slightly, dark curls whipping against her face as she went down. She fell backward among the cushions, limp as a rag doll.

'Very good, Harry,' Minerva approved. 'Very well done, indeed.'

Harry grunted in reply, slightly chagrined as he watched Hermione's unmoving form. Somehow, he was not as pleased with his success as he had thought he would be.

'Shall I wake her up now?' he asked Minerva.

She nodded him forward. Together, they turned Hermione so that she was laying flat on her back. Harry tried again to swallow his guilt as he pushed locks of frizzy hair away from Hermione's face.

'The _Rennervate_ charm,' Minerva instructed, 'Is a tricky spell to work, though you are unlikely to do any damage with an unsuccessful attempt.'

'That's good,' Harry opined, frowning at the still form of his friend.

Minerva cleared her throat. 'It is uncomfortable,' she agreed. 'But you have done her no harm. And this is the only way to learn the charm.'

'I'm not uncomfortable,' Harry lied.

'Hmm,' said Minerva noncommittally. 'Point your wand at the centre of Ms Granger's chest,' she advised. 'You may wish to kneel – for the spell is most efficacious, particularly for beginners, when cast at a distance less than ten inches.'

Harry crouched down obediently, hovering the tip of his wand just above Hermione's robes. He bit back a smile as he realised, for the first time, that she'd worn her Hogwarts uniform. Probably as she knew they'd be having a lesson.

'The movement for this spell is a small circle that concludes in a sharp flick,' Minerva said, reaching to adjust the angle of his wrist. 'The trick is that you must incant when your circle is halfway completed. It takes a considerable amount of force, as you are using your own magic to jar the stunned victim to consciousness. The exact amount of force necessary can vary, depending on what has rendered the victim into the unconscious state.'

'That shouldn't be a problem,' Harry said with chagrin. 'I'm usually being lectured to use _less_ force, lately.'

'So I have heard,' Minerva quipped. 'When you're ready.'

Harry took a deep breath. ' _Rennervate_!' he said, whipping his wand in a circle.

A white light shot out of the end of the wand, but it was a thin, pathetic stream. Harry watched it hit Hermione's chest, but she did not open her eyes. 'I used force,' he insisted, looking up at Minerva.

She shook her head. 'That was not the problem,' she said. 'You incanted too early. You must start the wand movement but wait to give the phrase until you are halfway through your circle.'

Harry sighed, and tried again. This time, however, he spoke slightly late. A jolt of violet light hit Hermione's chest instead, but again, her eyes failed to open.

'Once more,' Minerva encouraged.

Harry glanced at the clock. 'Shouldn't you just do it?' he asked nervously. 'I mean…'

'Ms Granger is in no danger,' Minerva guaranteed him. 'You were stunned for longer than this. Now go on, try again.'

Harry practised the wand movement twice, giving himself mental reminders where to begin to speak. On the third circle, he tried it.

' _Rennervate_!' he said confidently. This time, the spell was a deep scarlet. Hermione's torso arched upward from the ground as the light was absorbed into her chest. She gave a gasped inhale, and her eyelids fluttered at last.

'You're awake!' said Harry, beaming stupidly. 'I did it!'

'Excellent,' Minerva praised as Harry helped Hermione to stand.

Hermione smiled. 'You were faster than me,' she complimented him, shooting a look at the clock. Harry thought, perhaps, she might be just a _touch_ disappointed by the fact.

'I still mucked up the awakening spell,' he assured her. 'You were right – it's trickier than it looks. I didn't hurt you?'

'Of course you didn't,' Hermione chastised airily. She glanced again at the clock. 'But I'd like to go once more.'

Harry grinned, recognising the challenge. 'Go on then,' he agreed.

They practised another four rounds, each time improving their pace. Harry did not keep his lead, but he didn't mind. By the end of the lesson, both he and Hermione were able to stun and revive on their first attempts. They were both sweaty-faced and slightly sore (they had grown a bit lax resetting the pillows as the afternoon wore on), but McGonagall was smirking in satisfaction.

'Excellent work, the both of you,' she approved, vanishing the pile of cushions as the carriage clock chimed the end of the lesson. 'You may do as you like this afternoon, and I shall see you in the Great Hall for supper.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'All sorted for tomorrow?' Remus asked as Sirius padded in for supper.

It was a late meal, for them. Elated at the prospect of seeing his godson the following day and too keyed up to sit quietly in the house all evening, Sirius had insisted they take advantage of the balmy night for a moonlit swim. He had even coaxed Remus into splitting a bottle of mead while they floated in the lazy waves of a windless sea. They had stayed nearly to eleven in the water, until the salt of the ocean had parched their throats hoarse and Sirius' own growling stomach became so loud that he was forced to call a halt for the day.

Despite his hunger pains, however, Sirius had found he could not rush the shower. Which was why he had arrived tousle-haired and slightly dripping in his pyjamas, while Remus had somehow managed to shower, change, fix supper, lay the table and dry his hair in the interim.

Sirius grinned as he uncorked a second bottle of Rosmerta's finest. 'Parties, Remus? I was born ready.'

Remus rolled his eyes and turned for the hob. He flicked his wand at their steak and kidney pie, which began to plate itself. When it had finished, he levitated the two plates of food. But Sirius shook his head as Remus made to set them down on the countertop.

'Let's eat in the front room tonight,' he suggested. 'It's late… might as well be comfortable.'

Remus agreed, and the two of them carried their plates into the windowed sitting room instead. The waning moon shone off the tranquil sea far below, creating a little sliver of silvery path through the blackness. Remus pointed his wand at the hearth to stoke the fire. Sirius raised the table with his own wand, and he and Remus chose seats beside each other on the sofa. Remus glanced down dubiously while Sirius poured the mead.

'Better not spill,' he warned. 'Not sure my tidying charms are strong enough for this shade of white.'

Sirius scoffed, passing him a goblet. 'Mind yourself,' he chided. 'I'm a professional drinker.'

And he took a third down in one mouthful just to prove it, ignoring his companion's contradictory muttering.

'Fourteen…' Sirius reminisced, resurfacing from the goblet with a smirk at Remus and reaching for his plate. 'Ah, those were the days. Do you remember?'

'How could I not?' Remus asked with a snort. 'You celebrated yours by hexing the whole of the Slytherin class with that new 'sneeze fire' powder from Zonko's you put in their stew. I doubt any student since has managed to get himself banned from Hogsmeade after only one visit.'

'Still sore on Minnie for that one,' Sirius recollected, shaking his head. 'She could never _prove_ it was me… and only one serviette actually caught fire…'

Remus snorted again. 'I imagine the fact that every pudding in the Hall that night read 'Happy Birthday to Me' was a fairly good hint,' he teased.

Sirius shrugged, unrepentant. 'She let up end of the year,' he compromised. 'And even so – not _my_ fault my birthday falls just past Hallowe'en. I couldn't be expected to resist.'

'Hmm,' Remus grunted. He took a forkful of his pie. 'Still better than mine. Mine fell on the moon that year – I celebrated alone in the Shrieking Shack.'

Sirius grimaced. 'Yeah…' he said. 'I'd forgotten that was before we could transform. But yours was so close to James', we looped you in at the end of the month for a proper do.'

'And that I shall never forget,' Remus agreed. 'Twelve cases of mead – it is a miracle Minerva did not have us expelled. When little Jimmy Abbott started to belt _Braes o' Killiecrankie_ when she turned up at three o'clock in the morning…'

The current mead he was sipping found its way out of Sirius' nose as he laughed at the memory. Remus tossed him a serviette with a snort of disgust. Sirius hurried to keep it from dripping to the sofa.

'I'd forgotten that,' Sirius gasped out, wiping tears from his eyes. 'Ah – but Dumbledore found it funny, I think. He sent us straight back to the Tower, don't you remember? Just gave us lines for the following day…'

Remus cocked his head. His expression had turned from amusement to somewhere between confusion and sadness. He set his fork slowly down on the plate of half-eaten pie.

Sirius frowned. 'What?' he pressed, pausing over his own final quarter.

'It's just… don't you remember what happened that night?' Remus asked in surprise.

Sirius stared. 'You mean _other_ than the fact we got everyone in third form and up so well sloshed they made Hagrid's Christmas drinkies look –'

'Yes,' Remus interrupted. 'It wasn't in _The Prophet_ until the next morning, of course… but when we got to Dumbledore's office, he sent us back with a slap on the wrist and told Minerva to stay. He needed to speak to her. And that… that was the night they killed her brother Robert.'

Sirius gaped at him. Remus nodded solemnly.

'His children were both quite young – not even of Hogwarts' age. Minerva took six weeks' leave to see them and her sister-in-law settled, and to handle the arrangements. I'm surprised you've forgotten.'

'I… I remember that,' Sirius said quietly. 'I remember when Albus told the school. I just didn't realise…. You're _sure_ it had happened that night? They seem so far removed, for some reason.'

Remus inclined his head again. 'I rather think,' he went on, picking idly at the label on the bottle with the nail of his thumb, 'That in the wake of true evil, a few miscreant students with underage mead did not seem quite so life-altering.'

Sirius put his goblet back on the table. A log shifted in the fireplace behind them, and he turned to watch the loosened sparks dance and vanish in the air. The lightness of the evening seemed to wink from existence with them.

The warmth of the mead had dissipated, until Sirius felt as sober as before they'd opened the first bottle. The windows that looked out into the brilliant sea were dark, unforgiving mirrors once more. The merrily crackling fire no longer spoke of cosiness and friendship, but instead sizzled and blazed in an ominous echo of Inferno. Sirius – gazing into its flames – imagined he could almost see the gaping abyss… widening and strengthening as it prepared to swallow them all; trapping them in its pitiless void.

For things were now as they were all those years ago. Evil slunk through the world once more; stole futures from the innocent and children from their mothers' breasts. Took celebration and dashed it in the cold glare of reality. The world was cruel.

Full of brothers who were dead.

'Sirius.'

A hand clenched over his own. Sirius jolted slightly, brought back from his reverie. Moony was staring at him through understanding eyes; eyes that reflected a fraction of his own pain. Sirius returned the grip automatically.

'It will not be like that for Harry,' Remus promised. 'Not for this one day, at the very least.'

Sirius grimaced. 'For this one day,' he repeated. 'But for how many days can we say the same, Moony? How many tomorrows can we promise free from pain?'

The fingers squeezed around his again. 'Let's focus on the first,' Remus suggested. 'And take it from there.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry and Hermione went up to Gryffindor Tower after Transfiguration, so that Hermione could drop her things in the dormitory. Harry found upon reaching it that Albus – or more probably Mina – had already sent up his pyjamas and a selection of day clothes so that he could spend the next few nights with his friends. He suspected he'd find his toothbrush in the dormitory bathroom, if he cared to check. He shook his head, smiling.

'Not Neville's,' he advised, looking up to see Hermione about to drop her things on the farthest bed. 'He's coming tomorrow, actually.'

'Is he really?' Hermione asked curiously, moving to put her holdall on Seamus Finnegan's four-poster instead. 'That's… well, it's a bit surprising,' she admitted.

Harry shrugged. Remembering Remus' caution, he did not reveal what he had learned about Neville's parents. He pretended to straighten his quilt to avoid Hermione's curious eyes. 'Yeah, I dunno,' he lied. 'He's a funny bloke, but I feel like we should make a bit more effort with him.'

Hermione was beaming in a way that made him highly self-conscious. 'I think it's lovely, Harry,' she assured him.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly as he tried to summon an offhand reply, but at that moment a bundle of white feathers shot through the open window between them.

'Hello, Hedwig!' Harry greeted, smiling as the owl fluttered down on his pillow, a scroll affixed to her right leg with a golden ribbon. 'What have you got for me, eh?'

Hedwig held out her leg, and Harry detached the scroll. She nipped his earlobe affectionately and darted out the window again as he turned the letter curiously over in his hand.

'Is it from Ron?' Hermione asked, shaking the wrinkles from a set of robes to hang them.

'Er… no,' Harry answered. His cheeks went a bit pink as he unfurled the scroll and recognised the hand. 'It's… er… well, it's from Cho,' he admitted.

Hermione froze in hanging the robes, turning to face him on her tip-toes with raised eyebrows. 'Is it really?' she asked keenly. 'Cho Chang? You two have been writing, then?'

Harry grunted, his face flaming as he sat on the bed to read. 'Bit,' he hedged. 'She wrote me after the end of term, you know… after that odd conversation we had in Trelawney's tower. I didn't want to be rude, so I wrote back…' He shrugged. 'This is only her second letter,' he added quickly, raising the scroll.

She nodded, pressing her lips together with a knowing gleam in her eyes. She turned back to her unpacking while he perused the letter. He had barely reached the final line, however, when the mattress bounced as Hermione plopped down beside him, clearly close to bursting. She was watching him closely.

'Well… what does she say?'

Harry hesitated. A part of him did not wish to discuss Cho with anyone – ever… but the greater part screamed for advice. He summarised their previous exchange quickly, pleased when Hermione approved of his reply.

'So now,' he added when he'd finished, 'She's written to say Happy Birthday, and that she hopes we'll see each other next month at the World Cup. She's included some sort of map…'

Hermione took the letter from him, twisting it a bit to squint at the drawing. 'It's a diagram of a campsite, I think,' she explained, indicating the marks to Harry. 'For the World Cup. You see here? She's marked a spot in the second section – this must where she'll be camped.'

Harry frowned at her. 'Camped?' he repeated. 'What, like – in a tent?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Well, I expect so,' she said impatiently. 'Though I do hope she's marked her _actual_ assigned spot. I'll bet they'll be hundreds and hundreds on every pitch there…'

Harry looked down at the hand-drawn map again, letting Hermione rattle on. He hadn't really thought much on the logistics of the World Cup. Mostly, he had been far more concerned with the match itself. Was this what the Weasleys would do as well? Harry had never been camping before. If the Dursleys had gone, he was actually fairly certain that was a holiday they'd allow him to come for. From all he'd heard about camping, it sounded like rather a lot of work, and rather dirty. He would probably have been put to decent use on such an adventure.

But then, those were probably also the reasons that Uncle Vernon had declared the practise 'an uncouth blight upon humanity'.

'Harry, are you even listening?' Hermione asked sharply.

'I, er… no,' Harry admitted, grinning sheepishly. 'Sorry.'

She huffed.

'Why would she be camping at the World Cup?' Harry asked, trying to make up for his lack of attention. 'Will we all do that? Seems a bit stupid, as we'll be at the match…'

'Oh Harry,' Hermione scolded. 'This is the biggest event in Wizarding Sport! They'll be thousands of people coming from all over the world, won't there? They can't all Apparate, and the Ministry can't have them all coming in at once – it would be a huge security risk. No… I expect they'll have the spectators arrive in waves over the course of a few days, at least. Perhaps weeks.'

'Er… right,' Harry agreed, trying not to sound as though the concept were new to him. 'Yeah, I suppose that's true.' He played with the letter again.

'So… are you going to see her?' Hermione prompted, smirking.

'Reckon I'll have to,' said Harry, blushing again as he pocketed Cho's letter and rose from the bed. 'Already told her I would pop round to say hi, didn't I?'

Hermione's smirk widened. Harry tossed a pillow at her. 'Come on,' he said, heading for the door. 'We have time to see Hagrid before supper.'

They spent an hour or so visiting with Hagrid, who was overjoyed to see Hermione. Most of their time, however, was spent needling Hagrid about the odd noise coming from a back shed Harry had never seen before. It sounded to Harry as though a pair of very angry washing machines were having a row. Hagrid, however, refused to tell. He would only hint with a rogue wink that they'd find out first lesson back, if all went well.

This, of course, did not give Harry or Hermione much comfort.

After Hagrid's, they took a long walk at the edge of the lake, watching the setting sun turn the waters increasingly gold. Harry tossed his gifted rock cakes over the surface for the giant squid to catch, while he and Hermione discussed Cho a bit more and caught up on the summer news thus far. She was quite keen to hear of his visit to Remus and Sirius, and particularly excited about his lessons – especially Dumbledore's instruction on the nature of magic. By the time they finished their walk, the sun had sunk behind the high trees of the Forbidden Forest. Harry and Hermione took the trip back to the castle at a run – Harry quite certain that he'd be scolded far more for roaming the grounds after dark than if they turned up late for supper.

They made it in time, though just barely. The evening meal was a quick affair – as there were only four of them present and Albus had meetings in London to run to after supper. He and Minerva made polite conversation with the students over the lamb, and Harry and Hermione escaped for the tower while Minerva saw the headmaster to the gates.

'It's odd he walks to the edge of the grounds,' Hermione opined as they climbed the staircase. 'I mean – he could obviously Floo, couldn't he?'

'He likes the air,' Harry said, shrugging. 'And Minerva sometimes walks with…' He stopped, whirling on the third landing. 'Did you know they're together?' he demanded. 'Few weeks ago, I found them –'

He broke off, scowling as Hermione giggled. 'Harry, sometimes you are so incredibly thick,' she said, shaking her head and pulling him onward.

When they reached the common room, they found the House-elves had already lit the fires. The room was bathed in merrily dancing light, and a fresh pot of tea and a selection of finger cakes was set on the table between the two best seats. Harry dug out a Wizarding Chess board (Hermione was never keen on gobstones), and the pair of them chatted over a fairly even match for several hours. At last, however, Hermione began to nod over the board, accidentally knocking a horrified bishop off the table in her exhaustion.

'Sorry,' she muttered to the scolding piece, rescuing it from the scarlet carpet. 'Where was he again, Harry?'

'Why don't we call it for the night?' Harry suggested, pulling the bishop from her fingers. 'I'm knackered myself.'

Hermione yawned and stretched. 'What time is it any –' she began, but froze as she blinked at her wristwatch. 'Harry!' she squealed excitedly. 'It's ten past midnight! Happy Birthday!'

He grinned as she threw her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. 'Thanks,' he said, checking his own wristwatch just to be sure. 'Can't believe I missed it – I'm usually always waiting.'

He shook his head again as Hermione's continued excitement was punctuated with another wide yawn. 'Why don't you go up?' he suggested. 'Ron and Neville will be here in the morning, no use making a big thing of it tonight.'

She nodded and started to collect the pieces. Harry put a hand on hers.

'Don't worry about it,' he said. 'I'll clear up. You go on. I'll be up in a minute.'

'But –'

'It's fine, Hermione,' Harry insisted.

She gave him one more hug and set off up the staircase. The fires had all burned to embers by now – save for the largest hearth in front of their seats, where a few low flames still bravely danced. The common room was nearly in darkness. Harry collected the chess pieces himself, ignoring their squabbling over the undecided victory. He stowed the board and two velvet pouches back in their cupboard (they had borrowed the common room sets, as Harry's own was in his chambers in the headmaster's tower and Hermione had none). He gathered their rubbish on the tea tray for the elves and swigged the last of his lukewarm dregs, wondering how long he should give Hermione to quit the loo before he headed up himself.

He had just taken the first few steps toward the staircase when the back of his neck began to tingle. He stopped.

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw something move in the shadows. A tall, hooded figure in a dark cloak began to emerge, slinking across the room from the opposite side. Harry whirled in surprise, his wand whipping of his pocket – half-sure with wild fear that Lord Voldemort had somehow appeared in the Gryffindor Common Room.

But it was not Lord Voldemort.

It was the Potions Master.

Harry lowered his wand, though he did not stow it entirely. His heart was still pounding painfully against his ribcage. Warily, he frowned at the professor.

'What are you doing here?' he asked, not caring if he sounded rude. It was the first time he had seen Snape since that horrible night in the professor's dungeon quarters.

The professor did not answer. Instead, he held out his left hand, from which a dark pendant on a golden chain appeared to be swinging. Harry watched it drift back and forth in silence.

'Take it, boy,' Snape commanded.

Harry took two steps closer, but he did not move to retrieve the pendant. 'What is it?' he asked instead, narrowing his eyes at the necklace.

The professor gave an impatient scoff. Closing the distance between them, he thrust the pendant into Harry's hand. Harry pulled quickly back, though Snape did not attempt to keep a hold on him.

'I am not going to attack you, Potter,' he said – not quite sarcastic, but not altogether reassuring either.

Harry bit back the comment he wished to make, glancing down at the thing in his hand instead. It was lighter than he would have imagined, given the size of the pendant. On closer inspection, he saw that the gold chain supported an oval-shaped, deeply black stone into which a symbol had been carved. Both the symbol and the pendant itself felt oddly familiar. Harry turned it over, and saw the slightly scratched gold backing had two letters engraved on it.

'LE,' he read aloud, tracing the letters with a finger.

'Lily Evans,' Snape provided, drawing Harry's gaze once more. His face was inscrutable as ever. 'The pendant was your mother's.'

Harry stared from the professor to the pendant in shock. _His mother's_ … _this had been his mother's_ …

He flipped the necklace over again, tracing the engraving as he had traced the miraculous initials.

'But where did you get it, sir?' he asked, looking suspiciously up at Snape. 'If it was my mum's…'

'I was preparing a secondary classroom for my sixth year students,' Snape said. 'More students received the required O.W.L. marks than usual, and N.E.W.T.-level potions cannot often be brewed in immediate proximity to many other cauldrons. It may be necessary for certain lessons next term to split the group. In clearing out an adjacent classroom, I discovered this lying at the bottom of a store cupboard.'

Harry frowned. 'I don't understand,' he said. 'My mother hasn't been at Hogwarts in almost twenty years. How would it have been –'

'I have never used the classroom,' Snape cut across him. 'And my predecessor was not known for his tidiness. Most probably it dropped there many years ago, and remained undiscovered in the decades since. It is not altogether surprising – your mother spent much time in the room. She was a particular favourite of the Potions Master.'

Harry's eyes lit up. 'Really?' he asked, forgetting in his eagerness to be cross at Snape. 'She was good at Potions?'

Snape's eyebrow raised, his expression more characteristically mocking. 'A trait which appears to have missed you,' he said snidely. 'But yes, Potter. As I remember it, your mother was skilled enough with a cauldron.'

Harry did not even care that he was being insulted. He smiled as he ran a thumb over the etched symbol on the oval. But then another thought struck him.

'How do you know it was hers?' he queried, looking up again. 'I mean… there have to have been lots of students with the initials 'LE' over the past twenty years…'

Snape looked slightly uncomfortable. 'I recognised it,' he said after a moment. 'She wore it nearly every day for many years.'

Harry was surprised. 'How do you know th-'

'We were at school together, Potter,' Snape snapped impatiently. 'You are already aware of that fact. I imagine you could recognise Miss Parkinson's unusual pink wristwatch if you came upon it.'

Harry frowned again. 'Yeah…' he admitted, looking back to the pendant. 'Yeah, I suppose.' He turned the pendant over and over in his hand. 'Why are you giving it to me, sir?' he asked at last.

Snape crossed his arms. 'The bauble is of no interest to me,' he reminded Harry. 'And you told me some time ago that you had very few possessions from your parents.'

Harry remembered – standing in this very room, the night Snape had come upon Harry and Ron returning from the Forbidden Forest and Aragog; the night Snape had taken the Cloak. He had stood in almost this precise spot, pleading with the professor not to confiscate it…

 _'It's the only thing I have left of him, sir. The only thing I have left of either of them, really. I have a few photos… but nothing they have owned, or held, or touched. Nothing that was ever part of my family.'_

'… not particularly valuable,' Snape was saying, as Harry drew himself back to the present. 'The stone within is obsidian, not onyx.'

'Right,' said Harry vaguely. He would not have cared if the pendant were pure diamond or merely limestone. Its value was incomparably priceless. But he did have one question.

'What's the symbol?' he asked curiously, holding the necklace out so Snape could see. 'What does it mean?'

Snape raised an eyebrow again. 'You have seen it before, surely,' he said. 'It is not uncommon, particularly in the Muggle world. It is a symbol for the lily flower – a play here, no doubt, on your mother's name.'

Harry squinted at the symbol. 'It doesn't look much like a lily,' he opined doubtfully.

Snape rolled his own eyes. 'It is a fleur-de-lis, Potter,' he said impatiently. 'The symbol is ancient.'

'Like the song!' Harry remembered suddenly. 'You told me that was what it was called – _Fleur-de-lis._ '

'The fleur-de-lis, as I have already indicated, is an ancient symbol, and fairly common,' Snape repeated indifferently. 'It appears in many Christian works of art, in the coat of arms for Muggle aristocratic families in and the governments of many European countries, as the crest of Florence in Italy, and on the compass rose. It is hardly a unique occurrence.'

'But it explains why she might have known it!' Harry insisted excitedly. 'I mean – maybe it was her favourite song, or something, _because_ it shared her name.'

Snape clearly did not share the excitement. In fact, he seemed to be fighting an impulse to shout at Harry again. His jaw appeared to be grinding as he listened to Harry speak, and it was several moments before he unclenched it enough to reply.

'I would not know,' he said at last, still looking as though it were costing him a great deal of effort to keep his calm façade. 'But… I do… apologise, Potter,' he said stiffly, 'For pressing you into a test of your Occlumency shields that night. You were not ready for the intrusion, and I should have recognised that.'

It was possibly the closest Snape had ever come to a true apology – at least to Harry. It was nowhere near enough to compensate for what Harry recalled – the pain; the crippling force of having his mind ripped open; reliving the horrors both known and unknown to reside in his mind…

But the obsidian pendant was cool in his hand – fire made ice with his mother's symbol pressed into its centre. And, as Harry's fingers tightened upon it, he found his fury dissipated by degree.

He nodded stiffly. Just the once.

Snape inclined his own head. 'I bid you a good evening then, Potter.'

He turned, sweeping away with his usual graceful prowl. Harry teetered for a moment as he watched him go, still struggling with the confused emotions of the past few minutes.

'What else do you know about her?' he blurted out, calling after Snape's retreating back, though he knew he was daring his luck and the Potions Master's tenuous civility. 'What was she like, when you were at school?'

Snape paused ten feet from the portrait hole, his shoulders stiffening. He did not turn back entirely, but spoke to Harry over his shoulder – his face unreadable in profile.

'Ask Lupin, or your insufferable godfather,' he suggested indifferently. 'I hardly knew Lily at all.'

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Eighteen**

 **Wide Eyed and Curious** : Thanks for reviewing! Very sorry for the delay – but thank you for the well wishes! The girls are a nightmare, but in the best sense, of course. Ah, glad you enjoyed Minerva this chapter. She was certainly in her element – and I've missed a good Minnie v Severus exchange. Severus is licking his wounds a bit. Thank you for the compliment on Harry's characterisation here – I'm happy it seems to have worked. Dumbledore's lesson! I was quite excited to get here at last – not least because I've been sitting on the 'what is attuning to magic, really?' question for some time now, and only really been able to hint at its basis in review responses. That branch of magic is going to be very interesting and very important to the overall story, so I hope readers will continue to enjoy it. I hope you like Chapter Nineteen!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for reviewing! Yes, Harry definitely has an affinity for attuning to magic, and he does quite well in this first lesson with Dumbledore. :) Not everything will be as much of a trial for him as Snape's lessons appear to be! I hope you like the next chapter.

 **Babascoop** : Thanks for your review! Ah yes, the title. Well, to be honest Harry's birthday was _initially_ in this chapter… but it was far too lengthy and I thought the storyline was best served dividing it. The title still seemed to work, though the 'fourteen' was more heralding the upcoming birthday rather than celebrating it, I suppose. But yes – the next two chapters, actually, will deal with Harry's birthday. There's a scene at the conclusion of Chapter Nineteen that I'm _super_ excited to share – and as it comes circa midnight, I didn't want to dilute it by continuing with the rest of the day immediately thereafter.

Actually, one of your guesses on the unidentified first 'stump' chest is correct! Well spotted! I won't say here – as it's given near the top of this chapter.

Ah, poor Sirius. I love him… but it is quite a hurdle to surmount. And speaking of love… Minerva is on fire at the mo – glad you enjoyed her this chapter! And I do agree – Harry's snarky remarks are a bit Sirius-esque.

Harry's instincts – and magical attuning / the nature of magic – will _definitely_ come in handy in future. That will be, as likely you have guessed, a multi-book arc.

Hope you like Chapter Nineteen!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad I could make your morning a bit brighter with the new chapter :). I can't believe it took me nearly two months *shudder*. I shall try very hard never to be so long again. I hope you had a great start to the new year as well!

Hmm…. So this chapter, on the precipice of Harry's fourteenth birthday, begins with the Dumbledores and the precipice of Ariana's. The scene is definitely a bit short – but it's meant almost as background here; particularly for Dumbledore's arc. Always in his mind is the sentiment he dwells on in Chapter Six – that while he did not save Ariana, he will not fail with Harry. It also sort of comes full circle in the final passage of this chapter – where Albus is teaching Harry that a man's worth is not defined by his mistakes, but what he does to rectify them; and that both forgiveness and repentance are not designed to change the past, but to sculpt a better future.

Remus and Sirius – I _love_ their friendship. And it's a companionship that I can't wait to continue to explore. There are some very funny, and some very heart-breaking, scenes planned for these two in future instalments. But you are right – it's tragic what they have been through; but without those dark periods they would not have become the men they are.

Ah – a Harry and Minerva section! I couldn't have Minnie send him to Severus – because you're right, it absolutely would not have been in character for her. I delighted in writing her confrontation with the Potions Master – though I wanted to make it different from Albus'. Where both are clearly furious, the dynamic between Snape and McGonagall is different than between Snape and the headmaster – they have a different relationship, and Albus and Minerva themselves have different styles. Plus, she gets him _after_ Snape has been chewed out by Albus, so that certainly impacts the reactions somewhat. Interesting query why Snape rolls over rather quickly on Harry's lessons, though he clearly isn't happy with the decision. Perhaps he recognises defeat; perhaps he suspects – or fears – that Albus will be similarly inclined. Albus' thoughts on the matter are not shown, though his final moments in the lesson with Harry seem to suggest he knows what Minerva has said, and is perhaps readying Harry to offer forgiveness. In any case – I'm glad you enjoyed the scene!

Albus' lesson… well, to answer your question, it takes a _long_ time to work a lot of this out. Not the concept, so much – that I've had in mind since before I began this series. But very early on in the process of writing Child of Hogwarts, I took a week-end on my own in the northern part of England, where literally I locked myself away for three days in a tiny inn and spent the time researching and plotting out the precise rules of wandless magic, magical theory, the nature of magic, attuning, magical cores and connection with various disciplines… it took forever, and required a lot of reference-checking to be sure it all was fair extrapolation with what we know from JKR and the events of canon. But it was an exercise well worth it, because I use those notes nearly every chapter to plot this part of the storyline.

Albus is _such_ a good teacher – and Harry is both uniquely talented in this area, and also uniquely motivated because he sees it less like school and more on a personal level – it is a magic that holds great ties to Albus' family, and therefore a demonstration that Albus considers Harry to be family; and the tasks are motivated by these memories that Harry cherishes. So I think his success is rather a combination of those factors. Haha, I love that you found it in character for Albus to use medu vada as an example. As to which signature he had trouble with – you'll see at the top of Chapter Nineteen.

I hope you like the next instalment!

 **Barby96sb** : Thank you for reviewing! I'm very happy to hear you're enjoying the story so much, despite the long wait for Chapter Eighteen… and thank you for the compliments on the writing. I hope you like Chapter Nineteen, and a happy New Year to you too!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the chapter. Yes – poor Snape (or perhaps not, as he _was_ pretty naughty)… he gets quite a scolding these past few chapters. I think there's a scene in this next one you may enjoy, however… I hope you like where it heads next!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you're still liking the stories, and that you enjoyed the magical signature descriptions in Dumbledore's lesson. I hope Chapter Nineteen meets expectations!

 **Guest** : Thank you for the review! Very happy to hear that you enjoyed the chapter, and the lesson on the nature of magic. If you do re-read the story, I hope you'll like it as much the next time through! Meanwhile, hopefully the quick update for Chapter Nineteen is also enjoyable! ;)


	20. The Carpathian Dagger

**IMPORTANT** **: IF YOU HAVE NOT READ CHAPTER NINETEEN – 'The Fleur-De-Lis' – please go back and do so. Apparently, a FanFiction glitch occurred shortly after Chapter 19 posted, which resulted in its disappearance off and on for some days.**

 **A/N:** Hopefully the above caution catches out those who are unwittingly skipping ahead. Beg pardon for the extended wait – but hopefully this chapter will make up for the time. In any case, I do hope you all enjoy Chapter 20, 'The Carpathian Dagger'.

As always…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TWENTY

 **The Carpathian Dagger**

 _The morning of 21 July dawned bright and crisp – far cooler than the usual midsummer's day. Albus rose with the sun, hours before the others would stir. He was too keyed up to sleep in._

 _Instead, he crept down the stairs and into the sitting room, drawing the curtains apart to let the sunlight through the glass and appreciate the fading mists over the back garden._

 _'You are up early.'_

 _He jumped, whirling on the spot. Gellert was leaning against the doorframe, casually spinning his wand through the fingers of his left hand. He smiled at the startled expression on Albus' face._

 _'On Merlin's grave,' Albus hissed, shooting a quick spell at the base of the staircase, 'You gave me a fright. What on earth are you doing here at this hour?'_

 _'Working,' Gellert answered. Though he gave a careless shrug, his eyes were dancing in excitement._

 _'What is it?' Albus asked eagerly, striding closer. 'Have you discovered something?'_

 _Gellert pulled a book from his pocket, face shining. The book was much larger than ought to have fit in the handsome robes. Albus stepped closer, catching the title just before Gellert swung it open:_ Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy _._

 _'Look here,' Gellert hissed triumphantly, tapping the centre of the page._

 _Albus bent over the book. It was only a short entry… but it was a start._

 _'Extinct in the male line,' he read out. 'But it doesn't say when?'_

 _Gellert shook his head. 'I've been through it cover to cover,' he affirmed. 'There's no further mention of the family at all – nor any of its members. But if it was one of the earliest recorded extinct, it seems likely it was centuries ago… perhaps even with Ignotus' generation.'_

 _'Or the next,' Albus opined. 'After all, if the legend is to be believed, Ignotus must have had a son.'_

 _It wasn't the breakthrough he'd been hoping for. But it was certainly better than nothing._

 _'Ah, and the legend_ is _true, Albus,' Gellert said, speaking even faster in his excitement. Vanishing the genealogy tome with a careless flick of his wrist, he pulled a second, much more ancient book from another pocket. This one, Albus recognised. He frowned._

 _'We've looked through that already,' he pointed out. 'It's one of Batty's – one of the first I searched. I was not able to find –'_

 _'Exactly,' Gellert cut across him. '_ You _were unable to find it… but that does not mean it was not there.'_

 _Albus' frown deepened. 'What are you talking about?'_

 _Gellert fingered the front cover of the book with a loving expression – the one of scholarly appreciation that Albus recognised so well by now. 'It's an ingenious charm, really,' he opined. 'It was you who put me onto it – when you suggested Ignotus might have figured out some way to cloak the information. I was perusing this book at the table last night, testing a few different spells upon it. Because really, it_ should _have had the answers. Bathilda caught me at it. I didn't tell her what I was doing, exactly – she didn't see me casting; she thought I was reading. She asked what I was looking for. I told her I'd come across the name and wondered who the family had been. So she started rifling the pages… and_ this _appeared.'_

 _He flipped the book open to page 147. Albus leaned closer with a gasped inhale._

 _There it was, as though it had always been. Eight generations of the Peverell family… ending with three children. Three brothers._

 _'Do you see?' Gellert asked in a whisper. 'It is precisely as we'd hoped, my friend.'_

 _Albus traced the names with a finger, enthralled. 'Ingenious,' he breathed. 'And there all along…'_

 _'I know!' Gellert agreed excitedly. 'But it wasn't just you, Albus. I couldn't see it either – not until Bathilda pointed it out. She must have lifted the enchantment.'_

 _'But how?' Albus wondered, frowning. 'If you did not tell her why you sought the information…'_

 _Gellert shrugged. 'Perhaps, once you've had it pointed out to you, the spell no longer works on you. Like a sort of Fidelius Charm, but without a Secret-keeper.'_

 _'And Batty?'_

 _'Perhaps because she is a witch?' Gellert suggested, though the proposition was half-hearted. 'Or it may have to do with ownership. The book was hers, after all. We only borrowed it for our search.'_

 _'Our search…' Albus repeated, his mind racing ahead. He ran a finger along his chin, where thin auburn stubble was beginning to sprout. 'But… could it be that simple?'_

 _Gellert eyed him keenly. 'Tell me,' he insisted._

 _'Our search,' Albus repeated. 'Perhaps it is enchanted to prevent exactly that. Perhaps Ignotus did not hide the family from the world – but rather from those who_ seek _the Deathly Hallows. Those who merely wish to peruse the histories may do as they please. Only wizards who wish to unite the Hallows – to use them – are hampered by the protection spell.'_

 _Even as he said it, Albus knew it was true. He shook his head at the simplicity; the brilliance. 'An ingenious scheme.'_

 _'But that can't be all of it,' Gellert growled out in frustration. 'This book was published well after Ignotus' death – and yet the line ends with him. If Batty was able to unlock the enchantment as to his ancestry, what of his descendants?'_

 _Albus nodded. 'A second spell makes sense. Once the Hallows had come into being, Ignotus – or any of the brothers, I suppose – would have been able to cast it with a blood magic, passing it down through their respective lines. Such enchantments rarely work retroactively. It could be its parameters are more complex than the cloaking spell that Bathilda has broken.'_

 _Gellert took the book from Albus' hands. 'I want to walk in the churchyard again. We may have missed something… another stone; another name…'_

 _'I doubt it,' Albus opined. 'I know much of the area by heart. It was a favourite summertime haunt.'_

 _'And yet you did not recognise the significance of Ignotus' grave,' Gellert pointed out._

 _Albus frowned, but shrugged. 'As you wish,' he agreed._

 _'Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus,' Gellert read off, fingering the page again with reverence. 'Three brothers. I do so love being right.'_

 _Albus grinned. He threw a glance at the carriage clock. 'I had been planning to stop in at the baker's this morning – it is Ariana's birthday. But we may yet have time to walk through the churchyard, if we make haste.'_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Albus' boy is fourteen today, is he not?'

Bill looked up from the ancient book, halting the scratching of his quill. The warm glow of the flickering candles that had been aiding their research had begun to lose out to the cold, silvery light that preceded true dawn – beaming in through the high balistrariae of the tower. The grey of it stole what little colour his companion's face possessed. His shrewd eyes glinted in stark contrast to the pallor, like stray drops of ink on aged parchment.

Bill scrubbed a hand over his face, blinking to bring his wristwatch into focus. He had not realised they'd already worked through the night. He ought to depart Nurmengard within the hour, or they might miss him in Egypt.

He did not bother to pretend ignorance of the old wizard's meaning. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'It's 31 July.'

Grindelwald nodded to himself, stroking his chin. Bill noticed, with a heat of fury in his stomach, that Grindelwald appeared not yet to have opened his own stack of books, though they had to have sat nearly four hours now.

'You might get a move on,' Bill nudged, tapping the top tome with his eagle feather irritably.

'I've already read them,' Grindelwald answered.

Bill frowned. 'Well then,' he said through gritted teeth, 'Why haven't you made notes where –'

'The first two are useless. The pertinent information in the third may be found at pages 271 and 824,' Grindelwald answered immediately. He smirked at Bill's astonishment, tapping two spindly fingers against his temple. 'Eidetic memory. Incidentally, the book you are currently perusing is a waste of effort.'

'How so?' Bill demanded, though he pushed back from the book to glare. 'Already I have found a mentioned use of Fiendfyre in Uganda in 1897 to –'

'Destroying them isn't the problem, boy,' Grindelwald interrupted. 'Albus Dumbledore is more than capable of putting an object beyond magical repair.'

'What's the pertinent query, then?' Bill challenged, beginning to feel frustrated with his own apparently wasted night. 'If we aren't looking for how to –'

'You do not conquer fire by engaging the flame, Mr Weasley,' Grindelwald lectured, sneering slightly. 'Victory comes in the defeat of its ember.'

Bill scrubbed his face again. He was far too exhausted for riddles. 'What the hell does that mean?' he grumbled. 'What'd _you_ find then, if you're so knowledgeable?'

Grindelwald's smile widened. 'On page 271,' he said, taking no notice of the other wizard's ire, 'You will find a detailed description of a certain Carpathian dagger, turned into a Horcrux by Nero Germanicus in the first century and destroyed by Epaphroditus in AD 64. It was destroyed, incidentally, by a Fiendfyre curse – which took nearly a third of Rome in its path of devastation.'

'I thought Nero started that fire,' Bill said, frowning. 'Everyone's heard Pliny's –'

'I suppose he did, in a sense,' Grindelwald agreed. 'Had he not wished to rule for eternity, created a Horcrux to do so, and thereby necessitated its destruction, the fire would have been avoided.'

Bill did not answer. Instead, he pulled the indicated book from across the table, opening it to page 271. He gave the description a cursory read. 'It doesn't even tell how he made the dagger into a Horcrux,' he complained, flipping the page just to be certain. 'There's a rather good summary of its protections, but nothing about its creation. The rest is just a description of the dagger itself.'

But Grindelwald was shaking his head. 'For a learned wizard,' he complained, 'You can be exceedingly dense, Mr Weasley. The question is not _how_ he turned the dagger. The question –'

He sliced his hand through the air, as though imitating the dagger's swing himself. The pages turned so abruptly beneath his fingers that Bill had to pull back to avoid a cut. They came to rest at last, the book open to page 824.

'Is _why_ ,' Grindelwald finished triumphantly.

Bill read, his interest piqued.

 _The true name of the Carpathian Dagger has long been lost to history, but its influence over Nero's psyche can be inferred all the same._

 _The dagger is said to have been forged in the mountains of what today is Transylvania, given to the great Dacian king Burebista in a barter with the vampire covens. It harboured a magic fuelled by blood. A single drop on the weapon's point allowed its master to influence the will of ordinary men; to wield the masses in his direction and dispense with known enemies. Burebista used the dagger's power to unite the tribes of Dacia, growing the empire to its greatest historical height and bringing it into conflict with Rome. Despite the efforts of Julius Caesar, Augustus and Tiberius, Dacia remained impenetrable. Legend credits the dagger with its resilience. As time went on, the Dacians became emboldened. They began to regularly cross the frozen Danube in wintertime, ravaging the Roman cities in the province of Moesia._

 _In the brief reign of the Roman emperor Caligula, the dagger disappeared. It has been long-rumoured that the rebel Chaerea absconded with the weapon on a diplomatic mission to Dacia, though others propose the dagger was given to the Roman by Burebista's heir. In either case, Chaerea returned to Rome with the Carpathian Dagger, and used it to bring the senators to his cause – to return Rome to a pure republic. As Chaerea's supporters assassinated the emperor, his wife and their infant daughter, the loyal Praetorian Gratus discovered Caligula's nephew Claudius secreted behind a veil in the palace. Together, they stole the Carpathian Dagger from Chaerea, executed him and his supporters, and ensured the continuation of the empire. Claudius took the dagger as his own._

 _Under Claudius' rule, the Roman Empire remained at relative peace. The Romans began their expansion into the British Isles, improved their public works and carried out swift justice with the emperor presiding. Claudius kept the dagger on his person always and spoke of its existence to no one. Where enemies arose, they were swiftly dispensed with. While the Romans looked fondly on the return of peace, however, Claudius was considered weak. This vulnerability was compounded by the emperor's lack of a mature male heir._

 _To quell the threat of coup d'état, Claudius took a new wife. His selection of Agrippina was largely assumed to serve as means to adopt her grown son, Lucius, who would become the emperor Nero. Claudius, however, grew to love his wife. In time, he confided his dearest secrets to her, trusting her completely. He showed her the Carpathian Dagger._

 _But Agrippina was cruel, and cunning. She was stronger than her husband. The dagger called to her._

 _Agrippina used the early years of her reign as empress to eliminate those in the emperor's circle who could present a threat to her son's ascension. When she was certain of his position, she sought the Carpathian Dagger. Aware that she could not strike him dead without alerting the palace guard to her role in his passing, she crept upon Claudius while he slept, removed the weapon from its sheath, and dipped its very tip in deadly poison. When next the emperor sought to use its power, the dagger turned on its master. Claudius was dead, and Nero made ruler of Rome. Before her husband's body was put to pyre, Agrippina stole the Carpathian Dagger._

 _For the first year of Nero's reign, Agrippina enjoyed great power. The Romans whispered of her influence over her son. One day, however, Nero met the beautiful Claudia Acte – a freedwoman who had travelled as a young girl with Chaerea. Claudia suspected Agrippina's treachery. She told the emperor of the Carpathian Dagger, and helped him to brew a potion to resist its influence. Furious with Agrippina for her deceit, Nero shunned his mother. Agrippina was banished from the imperial palace and stripped of her titles and her guard._

 _Claudia had warned Nero that the dagger was evil. She advised him not to seek it. For several years, Nero heeded her caution._

 _But Nero was a poor leader, and he struggled to maintain the loyalty of Rome without the dagger's influence behind him. Even in disgrace, meanwhile, Agrippina remained popular. She plotted against her son. The unnaturalness of it preyed on Nero's mind. He grew wild and ruthless with jealousy. He began to believe that without the dagger's power, he would lose his crown and his people. He feared death at every turn. At the equinox, he decided to act._

 _One morning, Nero visited his mother at her riverside manor. He fell to his knees at her feet, and plead mercy for his weakness as a son. Agrippina, pleased with his penitence, placed her hands upon his head as if to honour him. And Nero plucked the dagger from her robes and ran her through._

'The dagger he used to kill his own mother,' Bill finished in a whisper.

'Yes,' Grindelwald agreed. 'And so much more. The dagger that had forged and fortified empires. The weapon that – used against another – would create an insurmountable weakness; and in one's hand, strength. A symbol of _true_ leadership – gifted and honoured by the gods. Unbeatable power.'

'But it wasn't,' Bill pointed out, frowning. 'Look at what's here – even in this short passage. The dagger wasn't unbeatable. It was taken over and over again. Everyone who had it died because of it, except maybe that first bloke. Nero too.'

Grindelwald shrugged his shoulders. His violet eyes were still gleaming. 'None were worthy of it,' he opined. 'None were able to master it; not truly. Certainly not Nero – who disgraced it so heinously.'

Bill glanced down at the passage again. He drummed his fingers on the open book.

'So Nero took it,' he mused aloud, 'And turned it because of what it represented to him. Power, and leadership, and strength.'

Grindelwald nodded encouragingly. 'Precisely,' he agreed. 'Those qualities he prized above all else. The things he strove to be; boasted himself to be. And yet, perhaps, things he feared he truthfully was not.'

Bill frowned thoughtfully. 'You expect You-Know-Who has done the same?' he guessed.

Grindelwald gave another shrug. 'Perhaps,' he said. 'Perhaps not. But it is an intriguing possibility. And, either way, I suspect Tom Riddle would not have chosen his Horcruxes without great care. He will have had his reasons… just as Nero had his. Motivation, Mr Weasley, is often much more important than method.'

'And what would those motivations be, in You-Know-Who's case?' Bill pressed, as intrigued as he was disgusted.

Grindelwald smiled again. 'And so we reach the heart of the matter,' he said quietly. 'As I explained to Albus not so long ago.'

He pushed off the table without further explanation, leaving Bill's query hanging in the air. Bill watched him stoke the fire in silence, still lost in his own thoughts about Horcruxes and human nature. It was a moment before Grindelwald spoke again.

'He was here a few days ago,' he said softly. 'Albus. Quite fearsome about that boy of his.'

'Was he?' Bill asked.

He was going for nonchalant, but he feared curiosity had crept into his question all the same. Albus usually sent word when he was planning a call at Nurmengard so that Bill might join him; or else owled soon after, if it was a visit he made alone. It unnerved him that he had received no news of this particular call. They were supposed to be doing this together, after all. Bill knew he would never be privy to all the details of Albus Dumbledore's many schemes…. But the headmaster had always confided the important aspects of this partnership with Grindelwald. He had, always, emphasised to Bill that they must manage this dark wizard together – that Grindelwald traded in information, exploited the faults in relationships.

That the headmaster had come, and _not_ confided the visit, disquieted Bill more than he was comfortable admitting.

'Oh yes,' Grindelwald affirmed. He pulled at the neck of his robes, yanking them aside to show his pale, thin chest. A bruise, fading from purple to yellowish grey, was evident just under his heart.

Bill could not help a slight recoil. Grindelwald smirked.

'Broke three ribs, your valiant white wizard,' he said softly. 'I do believe I touched a nerve.'

Bill did not reply. He stared at the discoloured flesh, until Grindelwald – with a slight wince – pulled his robes straight again, snapping the younger wizard from his trance.

'I must say,' Grindelwald went on, rubbing the spot slightly, 'He was not as flawless with the repair as he was in the breaking.'

'You're lying,' Bill spat, though he knew he wasn't.

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. 'I told you, boy,' he reminded him, 'I know Albus much better than you. He has his weaknesses like any man. And his boy is perhaps the greatest of them all.'

'What has Harry to do with it?' Bill retorted, still disconcerted.

'Everything, William,' Grindelwald insisted. 'Everything. Albus Dumbledore will go to great lengths for that child. But in his vehemence, he refuses to see the truth. It is a weakness I have suspected for years. Albus has shown it before.'

'He would not have acted unprovoked,' Bill insisted. 'What did you do, Grindelwald?'

Grindelwald shrugged, settling back into his high chair. 'He believed I endangered his boy.'

'And did you?' Bill demanded.

Grindelwald smirked again. 'Yes,' he agreed, without a trace of remorse. 'I would not have brought lasting harm to the child, I assure you. Even so, it was a theory that needed testing.'

Bill ground his teeth. Another hint; another tantalising opening…

But he could not.

'Why are you telling me this?' he wondered aloud instead.

'Why not?' Grindelwald questioned. 'Apart from Albus' infrequent calls, you are my only companion, Mr Weasley. And you are, shockingly, not entirely inept –'

'What high praise…' Bill muttered darkly.

'Which I suppose makes you my dearest friend,' Grindelwald finished, his violet eyes alight with mirth.

Bill glared. 'We are not friends, Grindelwald,' he hissed.

'Aren't we?' Grindelwald mused, touching his chin to his fingertips. 'What greater friendship might there be than two companions allied against a common foe? What greater bond of purpose, than two wizards united against the forces of deep injustice; a world order so inhumanely forged?'

The hairs on Bills forearms were prickling. He pulled the sleeves of his robes down to calm them, though the summer's air was muggy. 'We are allies,' he conceded. 'That is all.'

'As you wish,' Gellert shrugged indifferently. He was still smiling. 'As to Albus' child –'

'Why do you call him that?' Bill interrupted. 'He is not Albus', and he is not even much of a child.'

'When you are my age, my boy,' Grindelwald corrected, 'Anything less than half a century in age will seem quite a child to you as well, I imagine. But he is more or less Albus' all the same. Blood is not the only basis for power, Willliam. It is not the only link to family. You know this. That boy will magically mature at Albus' feet. He will learn Albus' magic and take Albus' beliefs for his own – misguided though some may be. Harry Potter may not bear Albus' name or countenance… but do not doubt that child is Albus' weapon alone. My own concern is rather that Albus will falter in his use.'

'He cares for him,' Bill disagreed. 'I've seen it – when he talks of him. Dumbledore wouldn't use Harry as a weapon. He loves him.'

'A perilous complication,' Grindelwald opined, shaking his head. 'And yet – it does not negate the point. Love is a powerful magic…'

' _The_ most powerful magic,' Bill emphasised. 'Love –'

' _Is_ a weapon, Mr Weasley,' Grindelwald insisted, his eyes boring into Bill's. 'It always has been. The most ancient and powerful weapon of all. A formidable strength, and a dangerous weakness. And the game, my young friend… the game is defined by those who know how to wield it.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry woke next morning to thin hands shaking his arm and a pair of large green eyes an inch from his own.

'Mina,' he gasped out huskily, pushing himself up in the bed and scooting automatically away.

'I is sorry, sir,' the House-elf apologised, releasing his arm. 'But the mistress wants Mina to wake Master Harry, sir. You is needing to be in the Great Hall, sir. For your friends.'

'Right!' said Harry, all semblance of sleep dissipating in excitement. 'Right – thanks, Mina.'

The House-elf gave a toothy grin. 'And a happy birthday, Master Harry, sir,' she squeaked excitedly before disappearing with a crack.

Harry scrambled out of bed. The sky outside was a brilliant blue, a light breeze ruffling the leaves of the many trees in the distant forest. Harry smiled at the scene a moment and then went to shake Hermione awake.

'Oi, Hermione,' he called, poking at her shoulder. She rolled away with a groan. 'Come on – Ron and Neville will be here in a few minutes.'

'I'm up, I'm up,' she mumbled, pushing his hand away as he started to prod her again.

They hurried to dress and half-ran to the Great Hall, Hermione still trying to pull her untameable hair into an elastic band. Dumbledore and Minerva were both in attendance when they burst their way through the doors, smiling widely at the students.

'Good morning to you both,' Albus greeted them. 'And a happy birthday, Harry.'

'Thanks!' Harry said back, grinning. He accepted good tidings from Minerva as well, giving them both an embrace.

'They will arrive after breakfast,' Minerva informed him – correctly interpreting Harry's not-so-covert glances toward the fireplace.

'Right,' Harry agreed with a nod. 'Okay.'

He allowed the adults to chivvy himself and Hermione to the breakfast table. Harry would have thought himself too excited to eat, but the events of the night before seemed to have left him ravenous. Between bites of egg, Harry fingered the pendant in his pocket. He thought more than once about speaking to the others about its strange appearance… but something held him back. He was still unsure how he felt about it all.

Snape himself was not in attendance this morning. Perhaps he was still feeling the headmaster's ire, or Minerva's. Perhaps he did not wish to see Harry.

And Harry did not wish to see him.

Did he?

'I think we ought to leave that choice to the man of the hour. What say you, Harry?'

'Harry.'

Harry jumped slightly at Hermione's nudge, his fork clanging off the edge of his plate and tumbling to the flagstones. Albus, Minerva and Hermione were all staring at him.

'Er… sorry,' he muttered, bending to retrieve the fallen fork. 'I was miles away.'

'Well, you'd better perk up and quickly,' Minerva advised, freshening his tea. 'They'll be here at any moment now.'

Albus gave him a swift, searching look. But he smiled all the same. 'I was merely inquiring whether you and your friends might enjoy a walk to the village this morning,' he said. 'I shall remain here to greet Remus and Sirius on their arrival, but Minerva would be happy to escort you.'

'All right,' Harry agreed, smiling to cover up his moment's lapse. 'But what time are Sirius and Remus coming? I don't want to make them wait…'

'They shall be here at about two o'clock,' Albus clarified. 'So you ought to have plenty of time.'

'Surely you can come too then?' Harry asked.

But Albus shook his head. 'I shall leave the jaunt to the young,' he insisted. 'I'm afraid these old bones could use a rest.'

Harry frowned. Proclamations of the sort were quite unlike Dumbledore. Before he could follow it up, however, Minerva distracted the headmaster's attention with something in _The Daily Prophet_ , and the pair of them began a hushed conversation over the moving newsprint. Hermione grasped his hand under the table.

'What?' Harry asked her in a hiss.

'Don't you see, Harry?' she whispered back. 'Professor Dumbledore just wants to ensure Sirius gets here safely. He's still a wanted man, isn't he? I expect the headmaster's staying behind to make sure there aren't any problems.'

But this did nothing to assuage Harry's concerns. If anything, they now redoubled. 'But that's mad then!' he shot back, struggling to keep his voice hushed. 'If Sirius might be caught –'

'There is no danger of that,' the headmaster cut in, making both students jump. Albus smiled. 'Apologies,' he said. 'But I could not help overhearing. This table is not quite as vast as it seems. Ms Granger is correct, Harry, in that I wish to stay at the castle to ensure Sirius' arrival is both covert and safe. For this reason, however, I can promise you that he will come to no harm in the process.'

'But if he –'

'Do you trust me, Harry?' Albus asked, his gaze piercing once more.

Harry did… but he hesitated all the same.

'I promise,' Albus repeated.

'I –'

The whoosh of the Floo interrupted them.

'Blimey – it's so quiet. Really makes a lovely –'

'Ron!'

' _Ron_!'

Harry and Hermione rushed their friend, nearly sending him toppling back into the flames. Ron laughed as he hugged them back.

'Happy birthday mate,' he added, thumping Harry on the back as they released one another.

Harry grinned. 'Thanks! What'd you mean about the quiet? Something up?'

Ron shook his head, though he was still grinning. 'Harry – you should have seen it,' he lamented, snorting. 'Best they've come up with yet, I reckon.'

Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'Best what?'

'Fred and George,' Ron said, as though that explained everything. 'They've got this mad new invention. They wanted to come, actually, and show you, Harry –'

'They should have done!' Harry said enthusiastically. 'They still could if –'

'They most certainly may not!' a new voice interrupted. 'Of all the horrid tricks…'

The fire had blazed green once again, and Mrs Weasley erupted with more force than the flames, her keen hearing apparently catching the contents of their conversation before the hem of her cloak was free of the ashes. Harry did not think he had ever seen her look quite so stern. Ron backed automatically toward Albus and Minerva, who were just standing from the high table.

'Hello, Harry dear,' Mrs Weasley continued, her tone much brighter as she stepped forward to kiss him on the cheek. 'It is lovely to see you. And a very happy birthday.'

Harry, still stunned by the odd turning of the conversation, tripped slightly over his thanks.

'So, what did they do?' he muttered to Ron when Mrs Weasley had gone to greet the adults.

Ron darted a nervous glance in her direction. 'Later,' he whispered back. 'When she's gone…'

The fire ignited once more, and two more figures alighted on the hearth – Neville, accompanied by a tall, rather severe looking woman with a bun to rival Minerva's in its primness, though it was honey blonde streaked with grey rather than black. Harry assumed this woman was Neville's formidable grandmother – a connection he could have made even before he recognised the vulture atop her pointed hat. Ron, who Harry suspected had a similar mental image, barely contained a snigger as the pair came toward them.

'Mr Potter,' the woman greeted, holding out a bony hand for his. 'A real pleasure. Augusta Longbottom. Neville talks of you often, of course.'

Harry shook. Her grip was surprisingly strong. 'Hello, ma'am,' he said politely, giving her grandson a smile. 'Hi, Neville. All right?'

'Not bad,' Neville said. 'Happy birthday, Harry. Thanks for inviting me.'

'Of course!' Harry agreed, clapping Neville on the shoulder when Augusta Longbottom had freed his hand to go and greet the headmaster and Minerva.

Dumbledore nodded to Neville over his own handshake with the elder Longbottom. 'And many happy returns to you as well, Mr Longbottom.'

Neville's cheeks flushed. 'Er – thanks, headmaster, sir,' he mumbled shyly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'It's your birthday as well?' he asked in surprise. 'You never said!'

'Not today,' Neville clarified. 'Mine was yesterday.'

Harry remembered vaguely that Sirius and Remus had told him as much, back at Shell Cottage. He felt a right prat for forgetting before.

'Happy birthday, Neville,' Hermione said, quickly echoed by Harry and Ron.

'If you'd like to put your things upstairs,' Minerva suggested, 'I will meet you all in the entrance hall in half an hour. Harry – a quick word?'

Harry allowed her to pull him off to the side, as Hermione helped Neville mend the broken strap of his holdall and Ron craned his neck to try and make out what Harry and Minerva were chatting about.

'Neville will not know of your godfather, Harry,' Minerva reminded him in the practised whisper of one oft-spied upon. 'You may wish to find a moment this afternoon – lest we have a panic in the Great Hall. Do remind him of the sensitive nature…' She trailed off, shooting Neville a doubtful glance. 'On second thought, perhaps I should suggest to Albus that we transfigure Sirius' appearance.'

'Oh no, don't do that,' Harry begged. He really didn't want a pantomime today. 'Look, I'll talk to Neville. I'm sure he'll understand.'

Minerva frowned, considering him a moment. 'Very well,' she agreed at last. 'Off with you – and do be quick.'

Harry gave a quick nod in thanks, and hurried off for Gryffindor Tower with the others.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'So, what _did_ the twins do?'

It was a good hour before they finally returned to the subject. They were seated side by side on a bench just down the lane from Honeydukes, trading samplings from the sweet shop. Augusta Longbottom had elected to make the walk with Minerva, and the two of them had rather reluctantly agreed to let the teenagers wander the village on their own for a couple of hours. Which, Harry thought, _was_ only fair, given that everyone but him had been allowed to do so for nearly a year now.

Even so, he rather suspected he would never be quite out of sight in Hogsmeade, whatever Minerva pretended.

Harry leaned back, letting the sun soak his face as he asked the query. Ron – who seemed to have no regard for the increasing scarlet of his own face – laid right down over all three of the others' laps, setting his sweets on his stomach as he basked in the sun. As a result of this unfortunate positioning, his snorting laughter sprayed Harry's neck with bits of chocolate.

'Wanker,' Harry complained, wiping it away with a corner of Ron's shirt in retaliation.

Hermione pointed her wand neatly at the stain. ' _Tergeo._ '

'Cheers, Hermione,' Ron said, checking the spot and patting her stomach in gratitude.

She swatted him away with a squeal.

'Fred and George?' Harry prompted again. 'And swallow first this time.'

Ron chuckled, but this time mercifully kept his mouth shut. 'Well, they've got this idea, see? They want to open a joke shop after school.'

'Brilliant,' Harry said with feeling. 'They'd be great.'

'Yeah, well, Mum's not too chuffed. She found a stack of order forms just after term ended – lists and lists of stuff they've made up, you should have seen…. But, anyway, she thinks it's a mad idea. A waste of a career and their education, poor return on the investment she and Dad have made, insult to their intelligence… you get the picture.'

'Sounds like my gran,' Neville put in with a shudder. 'She's always going on about what a proper wizard ought to know; worthwhile careers and such. Course, with my marks…' he trailed off, looking a bit depressed.

'None of it really matters until OWL though, does it?' Harry said, trying to sound encouraging. 'You'll be fine, Neville.'

'Well anyway, she's been nonstop on them ever since,' Ron went on. 'Then last night, they slipped this toffee into Percy's pudding…'

He started to laugh again, gagging on a mouthful of chocolate. Harry and Neville heaved him upright.

'Thanks,' Ron gasped out, coughing his throat clear. 'Anyway, they call it "Ton Tongue Toffee,"' he finished.

Hermione frowned suspiciously. 'Are you saying –'

'Yup,' Ron confirmed, grinning widely. 'It had to be three feet long before he managed to reach his wand.'

Harry and Neville roared with laughter too, though Hermione did not. 'That was a horrible trick,' she chastised, glaring at the two on the bench – and Neville, who had fallen off in his hilarity. 'He could have been really hurt!'

Ron waved her down. 'Come off it. It was just a bit of fun. An Engorgement Charm, I think. Percy managed to sort himself out, no harm done. Course, Fred and George high-tailed it from the room… and Mum's not shut up about it since.'

'Brilliant,' said Harry, wiping a tear from his eye. 'I wish I'd have seen –'

'Don't, Harry,' Hermione snapped. 'They'd have been in real trouble if they'd tried that at school. What if Percy'd choked? What if he bit off his own tongue?'

'He'd have got it fixed in about a second, Hermione,' Ron pointed out reasonably. 'And anyway – you haven't had to listen to him all summer, have you? Banging on about his new job with the Ministry… Think he'd like to marry his boss. Too bad Crouch's an old geezer with no sense of humour. Then again, probably why Percy's so keen on –'

'Your brother works for Crouch?' Harry interrupted, startled out of his laughter.

Ron frowned at him. 'Yeah. Started just after school. But how do you know him?'

Harry shrugged, trying not to look too guilty. He'd been told not to talk about the tournament. 'You know Albus,' he said instead. 'He meets with blokes from the Ministry all the time.'

Neville shook his head. 'You don't know how odd it is to hear you call him Albus, Harry.'

But Ron and Hermione were both suspicious now.

'Go on,' Ron encouraged, looking eager. 'You know, don't you? Percy's been hinting all summer that something's happening at Hogwarts. I should have guessed…'

'What's happening at Hogwarts?' Hermione piped up, frowning at Harry.

He felt his face flush. 'I, er… look,' he said, sighing. 'I'm not supposed to talk about it. I shouldn't even know…'

Ron scowled. 'Now _you_ sound like Percy,' he grumbled. 'What a load of doxy –'

'Ron, be fair,' Hermione chastised. 'It's not Harry's fault he's –'

' _We'd_ tell _him_ , Hermione,' Ron shot at her. He gave Harry a very dark look. 'And it's not like we can't all keep a secret, is it, mate?'

Harry glanced at Neville, remembering Minerva's earlier advisement. Ron and Hermione _had_ kept quiet about Sirius, even from Ron's brothers. They'd been his confidantes about the Chamber, the Philosopher's Stone, even his arrangement at the castle. Was he being fair now, not to tell them about some stupid tournament? After all, Dumbledore had not _expressly_ forbidden him from sharing the information.

'Oh… all right,' he agreed, sighing again. He glanced up and down the lane, an idea forming. 'But let's walk. I'll tell you on the way.'

They set off up the high street, the little houses and shops growing thinner and farther apart as Harry told the others about his trip to France with Albus and all he had learned of the Triwizard Tournament. They spent a good twenty minutes debating possible challenges for the champions – once Ron had got over his rant on Percy's secretiveness and Neville had finished squealing his terror. Hermione had begun regaling them all with a predictable listing of previous Tasks she'd read about by the time they crested the final hill, and the building Harry had been heading for came into view at last.

He tuned out her rambling, stepping off the street and into the tall grass. A high fence formed a barrier at the edge of the property, running along the lane and out of sight through the rolling hills. He walked until he'd met it and rested one foot on a stile.

After a moment, the others joined him. Hermione drifted into silence as they all stared at the dilapidated shack. Even in the warm day and sunlight, there was something eerie about the clapboards.

'I do hate this place,' Harry mumbled crossly, kicking an unfortunate pebble under the fence at the crumbling edifice.

The others all turned. Hermione squeezed his hand in sympathy. Ron muttered a few choice words Harry knew Mrs Weasley would have cursed his lips shut to hear. Neville, however, looked surprised.

'But why?' he asked. 'I wouldn't have thought you went in for fearing ghosts, Harry.'

Harry gave the others a sidelong glance. But there was nothing for it. He'd come up here – away from the bustle of town – to tell Neville the truth.

'There aren't any ghosts here, Neville,' he said. 'There never have been.'

'But the others have always –'

'It was a rumour,' Harry explained. 'Started years ago, to protect Rem – er, Professor Lupin, that is. You know he's a werewolf?'

Neville was looking more confused than ever, but he nodded tentatively.

'He was bitten very young,' Harry went on. 'Long before Hogwarts age. He didn't think he'd ever get to come to school, until Dumbledore got up a scheme. Dumbledore had this place built –' he gestured at the shack – 'So Remus would have somewhere to transform, away from the other students, but safe from discovery. It's enchanted, you see. Before Wolfsbane, it was the only way they could think of to keep him shut up at the moon but still able to be at Hogwarts. He didn't need it by the time he came back to teach, of course. They'd invented the potion by then.'

Neville's eyes were like saucers. 'But… I still don't understand it. I mean – that's interesting and all, Harry, but why would it make you hate this place so much? That all happened long before our time.'

'Because at the end of last term, the man who sold my family to Voldemort escaped justice here,' Harry spat, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. 'We nearly cornered him, but he got away all the same. That's why we came here: so I could tell you about him.'

'Sirius Bl–'

'No,' Harry cut across him. 'Not Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They apparated to the edge of the grounds together, choosing a spot concealed from the gates by a small grove of trees. Remus stepped cautiously from their shelter, peering up and down the lane. The only discernible movement came from the summer's breeze. Not trusting his mere senses, he cast a revealing charm. Only his own companion's presence ignited.

'It's –' he began, but the black dog trotted out before he could complete the assessment, bumping his massive head against Remus' left hand. Remus smirked at it. 'Very well,' he agreed. 'Most likely the safest measure, in any case.'

The dog yipped its agreement, bounding up to the gates ahead of him. They opened to Remus' touch, and the pair made their way along the winding footpath to the castle. Sirius chased a few passing butterflies, kicking dandelions back at his companion. His excitement at both the festivities of the day and his return to the school was palpable.

Remus brushed the yellow down from the sleeve of his robes, smiling softly. He, however, kept a wary eye even within these hallowed grounds. He trusted Dumbledore; and he knew Sirius' ability was unknown to the Ministry. Still, he could not ignore the fact that this was their first journey beyond the shelter of the cottage; nor that the last time Sirius had traversed these grounds, he and Harry had both nearly died. The summer's day might seem benign, but Remus knew better than anyone that even the gentle could prove deadly.

They made it to the castle doors, however, without incident. Remus let Sirius in first and turned to push the heavy oak shut.

'Albus is probably – Sirius, what are you doing?' he hissed, stunned upon his about turn to find the other wizard grinning, whole and human in the entrance hall. 'You idiot! We don't know who might be –'

'Keep your hair on, Moony,' Sirius chastised. 'Dumbledore's invited us, hasn't he? He'll have made sure that –'

'Your slight tendency toward the impulsive has been both accounted for and neutralised,' an amused voice interrupted them.

Albus was sweeping down the grand staircase, a twinkle in his eye as he alighted before them.

Sirius pouted. 'I'm not _impulsive_ ,' he grumbled resentfully.

Albus did not answer, but placed both hands on Sirius' shoulders with a small smile. 'It is good to see you both,' he said, turning to include Remus in the greeting.

'And you,' Remus answered.

'Yes,' Sirius agreed impatiently. He was craning his neck around Dumbledore's tall shoulder, peering behind him up the stairs. 'Where's –'

'In the village,' the headmaster said, correctly guessing the query. 'With his friends. Minerva is keeping an eye out.'

Sirius' excitement deflated visibly. 'I had thought he'd be here.'

Albus patted one shoulder and turned to lead them back up the grand staircase. 'They shall return in a couple of hours,' he assured him. 'But I did want to speak to you first, and Harry's absence ought to afford us a bit of privacy. Come – I shall send for tea.'

They followed the headmaster up to his circular office, where Fawkes let out a trilled greeting from his place in the corner. Before they had even chosen seats, a full set of tea appeared on the low table along with a plate of biscuits. Remus selected a chocolate digestive and the far corner of the sofa. Though he had no regrets about his decision to leave the school, he felt a pang all the same as he settled into the cushion.

'Has Mad-Eye been by?'

Albus nodded. 'Several days ago. He has taken umbrage with the curriculum on curses, and sought permission to accelerate their instruction this term.'

Sirius snorted, crossing his legs. 'Typical,' he grunted. 'Take care, Dumbledore. He'll have them all hexing their shadows if you don't watch out.'

'I have no doubt,' said Albus with an indulgent smile. 'But it is not such a terrible idea. The students are well versed in dark creatures, after all –' he sent a wink at Remus – 'and to ensure they are similarly prepared to defend themselves against illegal curses seems only reasonable. Especially when we know dark times approach once more.'

Sirius stiffened on the sofa. 'About that,' he said, with every air of one readying for a fight. 'I don't want Harry near Karkaroff, Albus. Or any of his students.'

'Sirius –'

'No,' Sirius said firmly. He was not shouting, this time, but Remus could tell the effort was costing every ounce of restraint he could muster. 'I will never understand, Albus, why you could possibly allow him at Hogwarts at all. You _know_ what he did last time – who he killed.'

'I do,' Albus agreed, a hint of warning in his tone, 'But he is head of Durmstrang all the same. There is no justice in it, Sirius, I know that. But I have no power to overrule the Minister for Magic, and I cannot punish the students of Durmstrang Institute for the sins of their headmaster.'

Sirius slammed the tea to the table with unnecessary force. 'But that is my point, Dumbledore,' he growled. 'He _is_ their head of school. And Bathilda's told me the rumours. He's said to have been ensuring the Durmstrang students are _taught_ the Dark Arts, not just Defence. It isn't safe to have them here, at Hogwarts. I won't have Harry near him, and I won't have him mixing with the foreigners.'

'Harry shall never be alone with Igor Karkaroff,' Albus said quietly. 'But I will not fill his mind with prejudice. We have no reason to suspect any Durmstrang student of malice. On the contrary, the aim of this tournament is to combat stereotypes and mistrust of the different. It is why I have insisted it continue, despite the calamity I fear draws closer every day.'

'I _forbid_ it!' Sirius snarled, half-rising from his seat. Remus yanked him down again by the back of his robes. Sirius slapped his hands away and glared at the headmaster. 'Harry is to be told to keep his distance, Albus.'

'Sirius,' Albus said, his voice a touch louder. 'I do not wish to pull rank in this. But I would remind you that the decision is mine to make, not yours.'

Sirius ground his teeth. 'You're making the wrong one.'

'I am not,' the headmaster insisted. 'I would never allow Harry to come to harm, but I will not accuse the innocent.'

Sirius turned to Remus, his face furious. 'Back me up.'

Remus shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. 'The headmaster is right, Sirius,' he said at last, wishing Sirius had not forced his hand. 'It's his decision… and it would not be fair to punish students for the faults of their instructor. I should know.'

'It's hardly the same thing,' Sirius griped, turning away in disgust.

'And it is not what I had wished to discuss,' Albus said firmly. 'The tournament will commence, as you know, shortly after the start of term. I anticipate its smooth continuance will demand much of my time and energy throughout the year. There are preparations that will need to be made… and I may not have the capacity to handle all of it myself.'

'For the Order?' Remus clarified.

Albus inclined his head. 'I do not think we need a call to arms just yet. But we should prepare the others. We need to be ready for immediate action, should the time come. I must ask for your assistance.'

'Prepare who?' Sirius put in, still looking sullen at his slight. 'Most of the others are dead.'

Remus grimaced. 'Not all,' he said fairly. 'Emmaline Vance, Arthur Weasley, Sturgis Podmore, Dedalus Diggle…'

'Doge and Arabella,' Sirius grunted, counting off on his fingers. 'Mad-Eye's been told, of course. Assume you'll handle those here and your brother,' he added, nodding at Dumbledore.

'Yes,' the headmaster agreed. 'And I shall head new recruitment myself, although I would be grateful for your input. Arthur Weasley, I have already spoken to as well. His eldest son, William, will also join the effort.'

'And what are we to tell them?' Remus asked. 'The others?'

'To keep their guard up,' Albus said simply. 'To await my instruction, if the time should come to reform our efforts. I do not believe we can count the Ministry a sure ally… at least, not at the moment.'

'So we'll be rogue again,' Sirius grunted, though he looked rather enthused by the idea. 'Just one hiccup, Albus. How are we to spread the word, when I am still considered a criminal by the outside world? You saw how it went with Kingsley…'

'Kingsley was different,' Remus opined. 'He did not know you before. He was abroad during most of the last war – and you never met at the Ministry. And he was not a member of the Order.'

'Exactly,' Sirius said, his frown deepening. ' _They_ will think the betrayal even deeper.'

'Or they will be more willing to realise its falsity.'

'I have a solution, in either case,' Albus interrupted. He reached into the folds of his robes and withdrew a shimmering phial of silver. He looked sadly at Sirius as he held it out. 'Not enough for the Ministry. But this ought to convince those who may be counted on. With your permission, of course, my dear boy.'

Sirius stared hard at the phial. 'What is it?'

'It is my memory – from the night we first spoke in this office. The night I retrieved you from the forest, and the pertinent portion of our meeting afterward. I shall lend you the Pensieve for the time being.'

Sirius gave a grimace, but took the phial from Albus' hand.

'I realise this is a painful thing to share,' Albus went on quietly. 'But it is, I think, the only way to be sure – particularly if I am not there myself.'

'I understand,' Sirius said huskily.

The headmaster turned. 'I still think it would be for the best, Remus, if you were to make the calls alone. Should anything go amiss, I would not wish Sirius to be placed in jeopardy, and it is still unwise to have him travelling about the country.'

'Of course,' Remus agreed at once.

'I could go as Padfoot –' Sirius began. But Albus shook his head.

'I do not think it wise,' he said firmly. 'But the network will be in place, should you need to assist with an immediate alert down the road. I have a suggested list here.'

He passed Remus a slip of parchment. Remus read through the names as Albus studied the planetary movements of his pocket watch for a moment.

'What is it?' Sirius asked keenly, having turned back to the headmaster after giving the list a cursory glance. 'Are the kids due back?'

'Not just yet,' Albus admitted, slipping the watch into his robes again. 'But we have another appointment first. Or, rather, you have, my dear boy.'

Sirius' face slipped from excitement to confusion. 'What are you on about?' he asked warily. 'Are you bringing in another Order member now, or –'

He shot a nervous glance toward the headmaster's door, as if expecting a former friend to come in cursing. Albus chuckled lightly.

'No, not today,' he said, shaking his head. 'Actually, it occurred to me that you have not been properly seen to since we were reunited.'

Sirius' brow furrowed. 'What do you mean 'seen to'?'

'I have spoken to Madam Pomfrey –'

'No,' Sirius interrupted, already recoiling. 'Albus, it's been months. I promise you, that is quite unnecess-'

But Albus held up a hand. 'I would feel much better if you would oblige me, Sirius,' he insisted. 'Frankly, I have shocked myself in my oversight. I cannot imagine more than a decade in the Dementors company and nearly a year living in the forest have left you in the best of shape. I must insist you allow Poppy a few moments of your time.'

Sirius looked to Remus again, his expression an amusing mix of borderline-threatening and blatant fear. Remus merely smiled. He was not fool enough to voice his agreement.

'Fine,' Sirius relented, without losing his glower. 'But if Harry comes back –'

'I have been assured her assessment will finish well before the children are due to return,' Albus promised. 'But we had best move along.'

The three of them made their way together down to the Hospital Wing. Sirius did not let up on his grumbling until they had reached the doors of the ward, where Madam Pomfrey was perched like a bird of prey. She seized him at once, pulling him through to her domain. Remus made to follow automatically, but Albus laid a hand over his on the door with a significant look. Remus paused.

'We shall give you a bit of privacy,' Albus called through the gap.

It was difficult to say whether Sirius might have heard, for the mediwitch was already fussing. Albus reached past Remus' arm and quietly shut the door again. He nodded down the corridor. Remus followed into a small alcove, where the headmaster seated himself on the edge of a bay window.

'I wanted a moment, Remus.'

Remus settled against the opposite side of the window. 'Of course. What is it?'

Albus clasped his hands in his lap. Over his half-moon spectacles, his gaze was quite serious. 'It is rather delicate conversation,' he began. 'But I was hoping to ask how Sirius has been coping, of late. It is not just his physical health for which I find myself concerned.'

Remus fidgeted, rather uncomfortable again. 'He is… as well as can be expected,' he said fairly. 'Better, in some ways, than I would have thought. Sometimes. Most days.'

'And others?' Albus prompted knowingly.

'And others… not as well,' Remus admitted. 'He has particular trouble in the night.'

Albus nodded. He fingered his beard pensively. 'It is unsurprising, of course. I would not expect him to recover overnight. I do imagine your presence is helping?'

Remus sighed. 'Maybe. It is hard to be sure, sometimes.'

Albus touched his arm in sympathy. 'It will get easier,' he promised. 'In time.'

Remus shrugged noncommittally. Though this was always what he told Sirius himself, he was not entirely sure it would. Not completely. But it was hardly a fear he was willing to admit to himself. He could not voice it aloud – not even to the headmaster.

Yet Albus, as was his wont, appeared to pick the unspoken from his mind all the same. 'It will never fade entirely for him,' he said, very quietly. 'Nothing that has imprinted so deeply on our psyche ever will. But Sirius will learn to live with his burdens, as we all must.'

'I do hope so,' Remus whispered back.

Albus patted his arm before withdrawing the hand. 'I must ask you something,' he went on, uncrossing his legs and sounding much more business-like.

Remus raised an eyebrow in invitation. Albus got off the window seat, pacing the stone floor. 'If – when – the moment comes where we have a need to reform the Order properly, I cannot use Shell Cottage to do so.'

'Why not?' asked Remus, surprised. 'It is perfectly situated for such a place, and its protections are second only to the Fidelius Charm.'

But Albus shook his head. 'Perhaps I misspoke,' he backtracked. 'I _could_ use Shell Cottage. But I do not wish to do so. I would prefer to keep its location unknown, in the main. It is a safe refuge – a port in the coming storm. I should very much like to keep it that way as long as possible. The time may come when we have need of such a place.'

'All right…' Remus agreed slowly.

'I had been considering alternative locations,' Albus continued. 'Somewhere more centrally located, of course, would be ideal. London or Edinburgh. As we both know, Apparition can never be counted a certainty.'

'I suppose the Red Lion is not an option?' asked Remus doubtfully.

'No,' Albus lamented. 'I do not doubt Emmaline would be willing, but it is far too great a risk for both her and the Order. It has been in public use for too long and is too well-known. I should prefer somewhere in London this time, in any case. Particularly if the Ministry becomes the obstacle I fear it may.'

Remus nodded, thinking hard. 'Have you thought of purchasing somewhere?'

'I am not against the idea,' the headmaster acknowledged. 'But I would prefer to leave as little trail as possible. I can, of course, use several protections to disguise any property exchange… but the safest course by far is to convert an existing location without necessitating a change in ownership.'

He hesitated, for just a moment. 'I had thought…' he said at last, 'Perhaps, Grimmauld Place.'

A shadow crossed Remus' face.

'I realise it is not ideal,' Albus agreed delicately, watching him. 'But the property is Sirius' by birth right, as his parents and brother have all passed. The Ministry has neither the ability nor means to disinherit him, and it is an old family possession, with ancient protections we could fortify. Its location is ideally suited to a new headquarters.'

'It is,' Remus conceded. He could not help his grimace. The headmaster stopped his pacing.

'I would never presume to force the Order's presence on Sirius, of course.'

'That is not my concern,' Remus assured him. 'The idea holds merit – and I know Sirius would be more than willing to allow the Order use of the place. It is only…'

'He cannot stand to be there,' Albus finished for him.

Remus nodded curtly. 'He fled the place, Albus,' he reminded him. 'When he was not even of age. He has never returned, to my knowledge. Not even after Regulus was killed. To go back now would be unspeakably painful.'

'I understand,' Albus said softly. 'Truly I do, Remus. And it is for precisely this reason that I had not wished to bring it to Sirius' attention without your opinion. I would not broach the subject at all, were it not our best option.'

Remus sighed. He picked a bit of dust off the knee of his robes, watching it flit to the flagstones. Mrs Norris, slinking along the distant corner, paused to turn her lamp-like eyes on him in scathing reproach.

'It is not my decision, Albus,' he said after a moment. 'And only Sirius has the right to make it. But I know what he will say… and I wish you wouldn't ask,' he admitted. 'He is not ready. Not yet.'

Albus inclined his head. 'Very well,' he agreed. 'We shall postpone the conversation, for the moment.'

He glanced back at the closed door to the Hospital Wing with a small smile. 'We ought to rescue him,' he said, winking at Remus. 'Harry will be back soon… and I dare say Poppy ought to have finished the bulk of her lecture by now.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Aberforth swung open the back door before Albus could reach the handle, his face stony. Albus stepped back slightly – startled. He had chosen the back hoping to sneak in; set things up before his brother and sister rose for the day. He had, apparently, been longer than he'd thought._

 _Aberforth closed the door with a snap, stepping out onto the path to face his brother. He crossed his arms, eyes narrowed in disgust._

 _'You weren't here,' he accused._

 _'Aberforth,' Albus greeted. 'You rose earlier than I'd have thought.'_

 _'It is coming on midday, Albus,' his brother retorted. 'And – once again – you are nowhere to be found.'_

 _Albus glanced at his watch, surprised to find Aberforth correct._

 _He sighed. 'Is that quite fair, Abe? I am doing the best I –'_

 _'You weren't_ here _, Albus! You_ know _what it does to her, when things are not as they should be; if there isn't order. And still, you're off again – gallivanting about with that idiot boy.'_

 _'Gellert is not an idiot,' Albus snapped. 'He is the most intelligent wizard I have met since –'_

 _'I don't care to hear a litany of your illustrious connections, Albus!' his brother spat back, so loudly that one of the Shrivelfigs hedging the fountain cowered in fear. Albus was momentarily grateful both the house and back garden had been well-shrouded with Silencing Charms and wards. Without them, he was fairly certain Aberforth's voice could have been heard in Gloucester._

 _'I don't wish to know the details of what the two of you are scheming to do now. See sense! None of it can come to pass – you do know that? And if it does, at whose expense will it come, Albus? Our sister is dying while you –'_

 _'Ariana is not dying,' Albus said hotly. 'Not on my watch. I'm doing everything I can to –'_

 _'You're doing nothing, Albus, that's the whole point! Sure – you're reminded when she has one of her fits. But you missed the one this morning, didn't you? I had to stop it all on my own, use the last of those phoenix tears – and have you bothered to go into town to get anymore? No!'_

 _'You used the last –' Albus sputtered in a panic. 'Aberforth, I was only just able to secure two phials from –'_

 _'I had no choice!' his brother cut across him. 'Like I said, Albus,_ you _weren't here. And I wasn't going to take a chance that I wouldn't dose her high enough. Even I can't talk her down every time.'_

 _'Aberforth –'_

 _'And what's more important, eh? What are you leaving her for? All this nonsense with the old history books and genealogy research the two of you are leafing through?'_

 _'Have you been going through my things?' Albus demanded furiously._

 _'And what if I have?' Aberforth challenged. 'Did you think I wouldn't have a look, after what you did with that Muggle woman? Histories and potions… experiments and_ torture _, Albus! Is this what you have become?'_

 _'It was not torture,' Albus defended. 'We saved that woman's life.'_

 _'And did she thank you for it? Screaming and moaning and dying as she was for_ three days _, Albus. Was that worth it?'_

 _'_ Life _is worth it, Aberforth. Magic comes at a cost.'_

 _'_ Yes _, Albus. Magic_ does _come at a cost,' Aberforth agreed. 'And the greater the magic, the more terrible the price. Is our sister_ _to pay for yours?'_

 _'I would never wish –'_

 _'Today, she spends her fourteenth birthday lying comatose upstairs, because her brother's inexplicable absence drove her into derangement. Because_ you _had better things to attend to. And how many more_ _birthdays will she get, Albus? How long is_ she _to pay the price for your delusions of grandeur?'_

 _'It is for Ariana's sake as much as anyone's that I do what I must, Aberforth!' Albus shouted. 'You are too young and too ignorant to understand –'_

 _'And Grindelwald is not?'_

 _'No. No – that is the whole point, don't you see?_ Gellert _understands me._ Gellert _understands what's important; he understands how to make a better world._ That _is what we are doing – for you, for me, for Ariana; for everyone! You fight it, when you should welcome it. And one day, you will realise the mistake you are making in this moment.'_

 _Aberforth gave a high, derisive laugh. 'And you think he'll_ share _the power when he gets it, do you? Come off it, Albus! The crown cannot sit on_ two _heads. Oh, you get on fine now, while you both have use for one another. But it shan't last. He'll get what he needs from you… and then it will all be over.'_

 _'You do not know of what you speak!' Albus retorted._

 _'Don't I?' Aberforth bellowed defiantly. 'Those who love power do not also love sharing it, Albus. You ought to know better than anyone. Or do you think he loves_ you _?'_

 _He leered maliciously at Albus' frozen expression. 'Ah,' he taunted. 'He does not, Albus. People like him love no other but themselves. Friendship, family, romance – whatever it is. They hold no ties for people like him, Albus. If you're looking for that Great Magic…_ We're _your blood – Ariana and I. And you're willing to throw all that away, for what? Golden hair and promising words? Companionship? An 'intellectual equal'? You're daft!'_

 _Aberforth spat bitterly into the rosebush. 'You told me once, Albus, that one day you would become the best there had ever been. I used to think it was true. I used to think you would do it, for her. Now… now I know better. It's always been for you.'_

 _'Aberforth!' Albus called._

 _But it was no use. The door slammed behind his brother as he stormed back into the cottage. Albus stared after it in equal parts fury and sadness._

 _He did not think it a good idea to go after his brother. If what Aberforth said was true, then he should not risk bringing more negative energy into the house. Not with Ariana once again in a delicate state._

 _He put a hand into the pocket of his cloak, withdrawing the silken pouch of marbles and packet of toffee he had picked up in the village that morning at a Muggle shop. Tawdry Muggle trappings; but he thought Ariana would have liked them. He'd tied the bundle all together with a violet bow._

 _He stooped and set the tiny present and the basket of French pastries he'd bought against the back door. The sight of it made him feel as though he was staring at his very relationship with his brother – small, insignificant, sad. He sighed._

 _'You're right not to go after him, you know.'_

 _Albus turned. Gellert was seated on the wrought iron bench by the far hedgerow, as though he'd been there all the while. Perhaps he had. Albus had seen Gellert's Disillusionment Charm before, after all. Enough to know it rendered him almost perfectly invisible._

 _'Am I?' Albus wondered softly. He sighed again as he looked back to the door. 'How can I hope to bring the world to betterment, when I cannot even convince my own brother of my intentions? How can I move strangers, when I cannot reach my own blood?'_

 _Gellert pushed off the bench, walking to stand beside his comrade. He put a hand gently on his shoulder._

 _'Because he was wrong, Albus,' he said, shaking the shoulder slightly. 'He was wrong about you; about me; about all of it. He does not understand. He is blinded by his affection for your sister.'_

 _Albus shrugged out from under the grip. 'As he should be!' he retorted. 'As_ I _should be. He's concerned for her, and he is right! She_ is _dying, and I am no closer to saving her than I ever have been.'_

 _'Yes, you are,' Gellert insisted, grasping Albus by the forearms before the latter could pull away entirely. 'Don't lose your focus now, Albus. The way forward – for Ariana, for everyone, is_ our _way. A new path for Wizardkind. Arguments like this one are to be expected, but they cannot derail our mission. They are nothing but tests. We_ will _do this, together, Albus. It is what has been foretold. And it is what is right.'_

 _'And if it is right,' Albus asked, 'Then why does it feel so impossibly hard?'_

 _'You think the right path is the easy one, Albus?' Gellert challenged, heat colouring his tone. 'It never has been. The right path is stained with worse than this. The right path is littered with arguments, misfortune, bodies. But at the end, only the ones who are willing to follow it can truly call themselves worthy leaders. Only_ they _have any right to bring a new dawn to the world.'_

 _'I must go,' Albus said, shrugging out from Gellert's ironclad grip again. 'The apothecary… I shall need to find a way to barter for additional tears. We cannot be without –'_

 _'Fine,' Gellert agreed tersely. 'I will come. But Albus –'_

 _He grabbed his wrist this time, twisting the older wizard to face him. His eyes blazed his conviction._

 _'There are much stronger bonds in this world than blood, my dear friend. In the choice between what is right and what is easy – I hope you find the strength for the difficult path. And I hope you see that for your own sake, for hers, for the world – you_ must. _'_

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Nineteen**

 **BlueWater5** : Thanks for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the final scene with Snape. As to when/if/how Harry will learn that Snape skirted the truth… well, it would be rather spoiler-heavy to put it here. :) I will say, however, that Remus' view on the matter will resurface at some point. I hope you enjoy Chapter 20!

 **Ches007** : Thank you for the review! Very glad you've enjoyed the couple of new chapters. I hope that the way the year unfolds will make for an enjoyable read… and Minerva will certainly have some key scenes coming up. Enjoy Chapter Twenty!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for your review! Haha, I'm glad you are liking the emotional ride, and thank you for the compliment! I hope you enjoy Chapter Twenty!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thanks for reviewing! Lol – yes, I promised a quick one last time! :)

Very happy to hear you enjoyed the chapter and its little twists and turns – this one was fun to write. Mmm, so Harry did, eventually, recognise all the chests – though some take him longer than others. Flitwick – somehow, nobody ever _does_ think of him, though he is professed to be an excellent duellist and a powerful wizard. Poppy I thought would be hard, given how rarely she's outside hospital. And then, of course, we had Sirius – who Harry knows fairly well now, but whose magic as rarely been cast nearby. Harry recognised best those he's known the longest, and all had cast magic _on_ him before.

Alastor is super interesting. I love writing him, because he presents so many challenges and is somehow both frightening and comical. He has some big ideas for the curriculum changes (though, in canon at least, he pawns this to the students as _Albus'_ idea rather than his own). He is right in many ways, however. Harry will definitely meet him again over the summer. I shall stay silent on plots of subterfuge for now… except to caution that things may or may not be as expected.

Ah, and we get another – fairly lengthy – Minerva scene! I loved having her bring Hermione in… it just seemed like such a Minerva thing to do in the moment, especially as she's known how difficult Harry's last few days have been. The dynamic of Hermione's parents and magic has always fascinated me. We don't see too much of it in canon, so I wanted to explore it a bit here. The Stunning Spell seemed like a decent one to get into here – as it really does need to be learned in partnership. And you are quite right: there are certainly implications and elements of foreshadow in what Minerva teaches the students about the spell and its effects. The students having a more difficult time with the _rennervate_ charm was something I really wished to emphasise. In part, this is of course because they practised the motions for Stunning beforehand, while Minerva does not instruct them on the awakening charm until after they have Stunned each other. This is deliberate – she wants them to recognise the weight of the spell, and that often it is much harder to undo what you have done than it is to do it in the first place. The manicure was just for fun, mostly…

Sirius and Remus – always good value. It's true – they remember an awful lot here. But they come at it from such different places. Sirius, who longs for his glory days – before Azkaban and heartache – remembers the light, fun aspects of the occasion. Remus, who has always struggled with his demons and who has lived in loss, remembers it for its tragedy. He is also, unlike Sirius, better equipped to face that tragedy.

Harry and Hermione. Ah. They do have an interesting dynamic. More brother and sister at the moment, surely. She is his best friend. But there are definitely elements that underlie their relationship, and could potentially change in future. Could, mind you… not necessarily will. As to Albus and Minerva, they are certainly together, but they are not married.

Ah, yes. I really did nothing but develop magical theory for an entire week-end. It was a great deal of work, but totally worth it in the end. I type most things, but I back it up and print it for a notebook, just in case. It _is_ actually fun and interesting, though it can also be stressful at times. If you have an idea though, I highly encourage you to run with it! It's quite rewarding.

Hope you enjoy Chapter Twenty!

 **Wide Eyed and Curious** : Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad to hear your invested – that's always the goal! :) Happy to hear you liked the Snape/Harry scene at the conclusion of this chapter. I wanted an apology that meant something to both of them. As to whether this will alleviate the tension in that teacher-student dynamic… well, it's Harry and Snape, so no doubt they'll be drama to come.

Moody _is_ a fun character to write – gruff, but practical and well-meaning. It's wonderful to hear you enjoyed him this chapter. Having adult perspective to explore him through is a fun adventure as a writer. Also glad you liked Minerva's lesson. Bringing Hermione into it was a new twist I enjoyed getting to try out. I love her dynamic with Harry.

Ah, I noticed this glitch with the fanfiction site… apparently Chapter Nineteen has been winking in and out of existence. I will put a notice at the top of Chapter Twenty about it – hopefully, people will not miss the chapter before inadvertently reading on. I _wish_ I could publish this properly… but, sadly, it would infringe on JKR's copyrights. For now, fanfiction shall have to do.

I hope you like Chapter Twenty!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for your review! Ah, well… he wouldn't be very 'Severus' if he spilled the beans at this point. Severus in canon, of course, does not admit the truth until quite literally his last moments. My Severus and Harry _might_ come to an understanding earlier than that… but of course to reveal more at this point would be majorly spoiler-heavy. I can say with certainty it shan't be in this book. I don't think Severus considers his feelings for Lily part of the 'guidance' he ought to be offering her son, sadly… but he has quite an interesting journey ahead. I hope you'll like where it goes!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for reviewing! Happy to hear you enjoyed the chapter. The necklace… ah, yes, there's definitely more to the story than Harry knows. And Snape was, as I am sure you gathered, far from forthcoming in the tale of its discovery. We shall return to it in future most assuredly. I hope you like the next instalment!

 **Wren Truesong** : Thank you for reviewing! Wow – very happy to hear you discovered the series and enjoyed your marathon read through. Much less happy to hear you were in hospital – and I do hope you have made a full recovery and are feeling well again. Thank you for the compliments on the writing – I'm pleased you found the characterisations enjoyable. And yes – I would agree that Severus is not entirely truthful in this final scene…. We'll see how that plays out. I do hope you like Chapter Twenty!

 **Guest (fist guest reviewer)** : Thank you for your review! Glad you're liking the story so much and that there are so many things you're looking forward to. I hope I can measure up. I know this wasn't as quick as my previous update, but I hope you enjoy it all the same!

 **Guest (second guest reviewer)** : Thanks for reviewing! Very happy that you're enjoying the relationship between Minerva and Harry – it's been a while since we've had a chance to highlight that, but I liked having the opportunity to explore them in this past chapter too. Glad you like Snape as well – he's always been fun to pen. I hope you continue to like the story!

 **Guest (third guest reviewer)** : Thank you for reviewing and for your confidence! I don't know if it's worth the wait… but I certainly hope you like it! I'll try to be quicker between this chapter and the next.

 **Elvirais** : Thank you for the review, and very happy to learn you've discovered the Child of Hogwarts series. I am sorry to hear that you've suffered such personal loss, but I am glad the story is helping, in whatever small way it may. I do hope you continue to enjoy it as we move into Chapter 20 and beyond.

 **Bryanjames** : Thanks for reviewing! I am glad to have been able to oblige today, if you're checking :). It is very kind of you to share your enthusiasm for the story. And never fear – I have no plans to give up the writing. These past few months have been unusually busy at work and with family commitments, but I have invested far too much time and energy and enjoy writing Child of Hogwarts too much to ever abandon it. With luck, the next update should come much quicker. Enjoy Chapter Twenty!


	21. A Fine Vintage

**A/N:** Of course, the very evening that I make a promise that this next chapter would be posting the following day, I take a rather terrible tumble in the tube (thank you, incidentally, if any of you were among those at High Street who were very helpful in the aftermath). I shall spare you all the details, but suffice to say I am still nursing some nasty injuries. I apologise for the unexpected additional delay, but on the plus side (for you, not so much for me) I will continue to be rather immobile next fortnight or so, but now with the renewed use of my pen hand, so I expect there will be some quicker updates in the immediate future.

I must thank you all again for your patience (well, I suppose for some it was more _impatience_ , but that's alright too). It's lovely to hear from so many readers – and I treasure all your messages and comments (even the ones that are semi-scolding for a longer-than-usual wait!). Much going on at the moment, but I remain as devoted as ever to this story and will always find time to work on it.

As always…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 **A Fine Vintage**

 _'Lily – no,' he begged. 'Please… don't. You'll regret it one day, you know you will.'_

 _Her face was tearful. The fingers that unclasped the chain from around her neck trembled. It took her three tries to find the catch._

 _She pressed it into his palm – the stone still warm from her flesh. He tried to keep her hand, but she pulled it away._

 _Her voice quaked as she spoke._

 _'I already do.'_

 _But she turned, sweeping away down the darkened corridor, her dark red hair swinging behind her, and her tears the only sound in the stillness of the night._

 _And Severus was alone._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Everyone gathered in the Great Hall in the mid-afternoon. It felt a bit like Christmas dinner, though admittedly with a smaller group.

Harry, Ron, Neville and Hermione came in together, windswept and hot from the walk into the village and a hasty change. Minerva and Augusta Longbottom were already returned from the professor's quarters, neither of them appearing as though they'd done anything more strenuous than read for the day. Aberforth – who had walked back from the village with the party – sat grumbling in a seat across the table from his brother, trading a shifty-looking flagon with an already ruddy-faced Hagrid on his opposite side. Professor Snape was – shockingly – in attendance as well, though perched in a corner and sulking as usual at the gaiety before him. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick chatted amiably next to one another, and the Muggle Studies professor Harry recognised as Charity Burbage was sitting on her own, fiddling with some sort of gadget over her wine with a little frown on her face. Filch, to Harry's great satisfaction, appeared to be skipping this celebration. The Hall had been festooned with a number of floating crystalline baubles, their many-faceted sides sending tiny rainbows over the table as they reflected the rays of the enchanted sun above.

Harry's gaze was drawn to the left side of the table, where two deeply tanned men in dark robes had turned to beam at their entrance. They rose in unison to meet him.

Sirius reached them first, gathering Harry close in an embrace that would have done even Hagrid proud.

'Oof – gerroff, Sirius – it's only been a few weeks,' Harry half-laughed, half-plead as his lungs were flattened.

Sirius relented, allowing Remus to move forward. He opted to grasp Harry's shoulder instead. 'You're looking well,' he approved.

Harry nodded, taking in the pair of them. 'Yeah, and you. Must be lovely to lie in the sun all summer.'

Sirius mock-glared, but Remus laughed as he made to greet the others. Harry turned to face his companions as well.

'You remember Ron and Hermione, of course,' he said for Sirius' benefit. 'And this is Neville – Neville Longbottom.'

Sirius held out a hand. Neville, to his credit, shook without even a glimmer of apprehension. 'Harry's spoken a great deal of you,' Sirius told the boy with a smile. He nodded back in Augusta Longbottom's direction. 'And I know your family well. Your parents were both dear friends.'

Neville flushed, but nodded. 'Thanks,' he said with half a smile.

Sirius grinned back. 'I met you once before as well,' he went on, sizing Neville up. 'Course – you were a bit more portable the last time.'

'Come and join, boy,' Aberforth called out gruffly from the table.

Harry, grateful for the distraction before Ron could voice his obvious curiosity, hastened to lead the group up to the high table. The six of them seated themselves around those already established, with Harry sandwiched between Sirius and Hermione. When the cheers and small talk had given way to a scuffle over the multitude of dishes, he leaned in to speak to his godfather.

'Are all these people… er, okay?' he asked, eying the Muggle Studies teacher in particular. He knew Professor Flitwick well enough by now to be certain he would take Dumbledore at his word; and Madam Pomfrey's discretion was legendary. Professor Burbage, however, he had hardly ever spoken to before. Her appearance today surprised him.

Sirius tracked his gaze. He grunted.

'Oh, Charity's all right,' he assured him with a careless wave. 'We were at school together, and she's never much trusted the Ministry anyway. We caught up a bit before you lot came down.'

Harry frowned down the table, where the witch in question was still bent over a device he could scarcely make out. 'What's that she's got there?' he asked, nodding at it. 'It looks… almost like a telephone.'

Sirius laughed. 'Funny enough – oi, Charity?' he called, raising his voice to be heard the length of the great table.

The professor looked up – as did most of the diners in between. Sirius did not appear phased by the extra attention. If anything, his grin grew.

'What's that you're tinkering with again?'

She held it up, face glowing with an enthusiasm Harry had only ever appreciated in Arthur Weasley.

'They call it a _mobile_ ,' she informed him in an excited squeak. 'Future of Muggle technology. It's meant to let you place a telephone call from anywhere at all! Though I hear they've not quite covered _anywhere_ just yet…'

'Ooo, my father just bought one of those, professor!' Hermione put in over Sirius' not-so-subtle laughter. 'He says its going to make a real impact on business, especially when their answering services –'

'Why would you want _more_ of those mad things?' Ron interrupted to ask.

He eyed the mobile phone in deep mistrust. Harry, reminded of Ron's own ill-fated attempt to ring him once at the Dursleys', was torn between a grin and a wince. Remus caught his eye with a slightly concerned expression, and Harry hastened to ask his own query in order to avoid the enquiry.

'Can you use it at Hogwarts?'

The Muggle Studies professor heaved a frustrated sigh. 'That's just it,' she lamented. 'With so much magic in the air, it's nigh impossible to get it to function. Course – it could be an electrical signal issue,' she added, tapping at her chin pensively.

The headmaster shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. 'I doubt that is the problem, Charity. We have never been able to utilise Muggle technology in the castle.'

She frowned. 'A true shame, Albus. If you only would allow me to –'

'Anything that might disrupt the wards is a poor endeavour for experiment,' Snape cut in, laying his wine to one side to enter the debate.

'I tend to agree,' Minerva added before Charity could finish. 'A risk we should not take.'

'Well now, is that fair?' Sirius piped up. 'You wouldn't necessarily have to disrupt anything to have a go at a loophole. I remember when I was sixteen –'

'Your exploits are hardly a thing for _model_ behaviour, are they Black?' Snape shot back.

Sirius shoved himself down the bench a ways to retort, and what had been banter began to escalate quickly into argument. Harry tuned it out – too used to the snippy back-and-forth between the Potions Master and his godfather to care. The headmaster eventually redirected the course of discussion away from the rising voices.

Harry felt the pendant in his pocket again while the group broke into little side chats instead and began to fill their plates. He frowned slightly as he fingered the cool obsidian. He remembered Snape's odd parting comment – that he ought to ask Remus, or Sirius, if he wished to know more about his mother.

He glanced to his left, where Sirius – apparently recovered from his spat with Snape – was sharing a somewhat bawdy joke with Aberforth while Minerva's lips grew steadily thinner across the table. He chewed at his own lip, but diverted his eyes again before his godfather could notice the unspoken entreaty.

No… perhaps not Sirius. He was not sure getting into the explanation of how he had come to possess his mother's necklace with his godfather was the best idea – or, at least, not while Snape himself sat at the other end of the group. Sirius hated Snape. Harry knew he was unlikely to get five words out before Sirius would find a quarrel – even _if_ Harry missed out the bit about their disastrous Legilimency experiment.

'Something wrong, Harry?'

Harry looked to his right at the whispered words. As if in answer to his internal musings, Remus had slid onto the bench (Hermione having vacated her previous post to have a closer look at Professor Burbage's new gadget). He was smiling, but his eyes held the same soft concern Harry had recognised a few minutes before.

Harry glanced up and down the table, but the others were all engaged in happy side conversation now that their plates were mostly empty. Neville and Ron were talking Quidditch – with Ron using a few stray chips to demonstrate some new formation the Irish side had been trying out – and Hermione was still in busy chat with Professor Burbage. Even Snape was distracted. Albus had perched himself at the end of the long table, and their heads were bent together in low discussion.

Harry knew Remus was referencing his odd reaction to Ron's earlier comment, but Harry ignored that. Instead, he closed his fingers around the treasure in his pocket and shifted to put a bit of space between himself and Sirius, though he doubted the latter's attention would wander.

'Remus… may I show you something?'

'Anything, Harry,' Remus said earnestly. He moved so he was straddling the bench instead, facing Harry full on.

Harry tugged the pendant free from his pocket with a slightly furtive look about once again. Keeping his fist low so the others would not notice, he unfurled his fingers and offered the pendant forward toward his ex-professor.

Remus' eyes seemed to arrest for a moment. He reached out, stroking the etching and smiling sadly. He did not lift the necklace from Harry's palm – but Harry could tell from the wizard's face that he recognised it.

'Where –'

'Snape gave it to me,' Harry confided. 'It was odd, actually. He turned up in the Tower last night – said he'd found it in a disused classroom.'

Remus glanced down the long table in Snape's direction with a highly peculiar expression. The Potions Master, still in animated conversation with the headmaster, did not appear to notice.

Harry frowned suspiciously. 'What is it?'

Remus turned back. 'Nothing,' he said, smiling again. 'I just have not seen this pendant in many years. How fortunate that Severus came across it.'

Harry grinned. 'Yeah, it was. He said my mum was good at Potions too. Is that true?'

Remus nodded. 'She was excellent. One of Slughorn's favourites, if memory serves.'

'Wish _I'd_ had Slughorn, instead of Snape,' Harry muttered with a grimace.

'Don't envy the Veela, Harry,' Remus cautioned with a chortle. 'Severus presents some – er, _unique_ challenges – but Slughorn came with his own set of idiosyncrasies.'

'You didn't like him?' asked Harry curiously. 'I thought you said at the cottage that he was a good man?'

Remus shrugged. 'I did not dislike him, exactly,' he hedged. 'He was – is – a decent man at his core, I think. Certainly a very competent instructor and well-respected for his proficiency. But Slughorn has always been a… collector. Of people,' he added, at Harry's confusion.

Harry scowled. 'How do you collect people?'

Remus chuckled again. 'You make a habit of ingratiating yourself with the right ones,' he clarified. 'And you give assistance to the ambitious, the driven, the famous and the talented. Slughorn had a knack for choosing the best in every year. He was very well known for it. His network spans many generations of powerful, successful witches and wizards.'

Harry gave a wry grin. 'Bet he would have been chuffed with the 'Boy Who Lived',' he said sarcastically.

Remus did not laugh this time. 'I dare say he would. Which is one reason it is not such a bad thing, Harry, that you are learning from Severus instead.'

Harry was about to point out that _Snape's_ method of teaching – teaching Harry, at least – seemed to border on torture more often than not, but he did not get the chance. Dumbledore had stood at the end of the long table, leaving Snape scowling behind him as he reclaimed his seat at the centre. He stood in front of it, his arms spread wide as though he were welcoming his full school to autumn term.

'A beautiful showing of friends and loved ones,' he began, twinkling at them all, 'For a very special celebration. I know our elves are anxious to bring out their excellent cake, but first, I think, a toast is quite called for.'

He raised his goblet, holding it out to Harry. Harry flushed considerably as the others followed suit, squirming under the scrutiny and unable to meet their eyes.

'A very happy birthday, my dear child,' the headmaster continued. He gave a half-smile. 'Though the days grow few when I might use the epithet with particular accuracy. You have grown already, Harry, into a fine young wizard, and an even better young man. You have made me very proud. I toast to another year of good health, great happiness and, perhaps, a touch less mischief than the last.'

Albus gave a shadow of a wink. From beside him – where Sirius had sidled closer again at the resumption of ceremony – Harry heard his godfather give a stage-whispered dissent. Albus, ever composed, pretended not to notice.

'To Harry,' the headmaster called, raising the goblet.

'Harry,' the others echoed in unison.

They drank. No sooner had Albus set his own glass down then the monstrous cake appeared – a towering, seven-layered masterpiece of clotted cream and sugared Quidditch miniatures. Harry suffered through the attentions of a very out-of-tune chorus – perhaps the only attendant less comfortable than the surly, unsinging Potions Master. Dumbledore sliced through the cake with a wave of his wand, and everyone collected their portion.

Sirius chuckled beside him as Harry took a forkful with his cheeks still smarting.

'What?' he demanded, looking sideways at his godfather.

Sirius shrugged. 'You're so much like James, sometimes I forget,' he admitted, shaking his head. 'But then, in moments like this, I remember you're only half of him.'

Harry frowned, confused. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'James loved to be the centre of things,' Sirius said, with another indulgent chuckle. 'His birthdays – every one of them came with more pomp and circumstance than Christmas Day.'

Remus laughed too. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'And he'd go on and on about it for about a month beforehand…'

'Do you remember that time in seventh year…'

But Harry was suddenly reminded of something, and cut into Sirius' recollection before it could begin. 'You were there the day I was born!' he remembered. 'You've never told me the story before. Could you? Or do you have a memory I could –'

Sirius grimaced. 'Not that one, Harry,' he said in a pained voice. 'That's… it was not a time I think you should see.

'Why not?' Harry asked, a bit put out.

Sirius' grimace remained. 'I was there for _all_ of it, Harry,' he said meaningfully. 'And not all of it was pretty. Your mother… She almost died, bringing you into this world.'

Harry frowned. He remembered vaguely that Remus had said before that his had been a difficult birth. He did not think he had really registered what that entailed before. He had always assumed, when people had said that Sirius was there on the day Harry was born, that they meant he had been there – in the cottage that day.

From the expression on his godfather's face, however, he could now see there was much more to the tale.

'Perhaps the events of later in the evening,' Remus suggested, before Harry could comment. 'You might show him, Sirius, how he was named.'

Sirius' face relaxed. 'I suppose I could do that.'

'Yeah,' Harry agreed. 'That would be great, Sirius.'

'Budge up there, Sirius, budge up.'

'Hagrid!' Harry grinned, moving over a bit himself to make room for Hagrid.

The gamekeeper clapped a hand on his shoulder as he squished himself into the freed-up space, the force of the welcome causing half of Harry's spine to crack.

'And ter think,' he said, shaking his bushy head as he turned rather mead-sodden eyes to Harry, 'It's been three whole years what since I found yer in that ruddy hut.'

Harry grinned wickedly. 'What – since that day you turned up, bent Uncle Vernon's gun like a pretzel and gave Dudley a curling tail?'

'Vernon's _gun_ –' Sirius hissed, looking scandalised.

Hagrid flapped a massive hand, though he was chuckling. 'I'm a right sight older'n yeh are, Harry. I ferget the details.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'What's that, Harry?'

Harry looked up from his contemplation of Hermione and Ron's furious chess match.

They had spent the latter part of the afternoon down at the Quidditch pitch with Remus and Sirius, flying until the light grew so dim that Harry could barely see the practise Snitch in front of his own face. After a rather light supper (for all had been quite full from the surplus of birthday feast), they retired to the Tower for the remainder of the night. Harry had said goodbye to his father's friends before their exodus, for Remus and Sirius were planning to depart later that evening. He had been rather subdued since the farewells. He did not know whether he'd have a chance to see them again before the summer holiday ended.

'Sorry?' he asked, drawn from his musings.

Neville was pointing at the pendant, which Harry had absentmindedly taken from an inside pocket and was turning round and round in his palm. Harry glanced down at it in mild surprise.

Ron and Hermione looked up from the squabbling chessmen. Harry's face coloured a bit.

'It's… er… it's nothing, really. Just an old necklace.'

'A necklace,' Ron teased with a small laugh. 'Never knew you were the jewellery type.'

Harry's blush deepened, but he scowled at Ron. 'It was my mother's.'

Ron's smirk faded at once. Hermione gave him a very cross glare. 'Sorry, mate,' said Ron in chagrin. 'I didn't –'

'It's okay,' Harry assured him. 'You couldn't have known.'

'Your mother's,' Neville repeated in a whisper, wide-eyed.

'Where did you get it, Harry?' Hermione asked. 'I've never seen you with it before. Did Dumbledore give it to you?'

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. 'Er… no,' he admitted. 'No it was, er… Actually, it was Snape.'

Ron started so violently he nearly upended the chessboard. ' _Snape_?!' he repeated, shocked. ' _Snape_ gave you your mother's necklace?'

Neville's sympathetic expression had gone. He looked terrified.

'But where on earth would Snape have got your mother's pendant?' asked Hermione.

'Stole it, most like,' Ron answered darkly before Harry could reply. 'Wouldn't put it past him. And they're about the same age, aren't they? He might've nicked it while they were at Hogwarts.'

'Ron, don't be ridiculous,' Hermione snapped. 'Snape would never have _stolen_ Harry's mother's necklace. And even if he had – why on earth would he then give it to Harry?'

'Don't ask me to think out how that man's mind works, Hermione,' Ron shot back. 'But when has he ever been scheming anything but misery where Harry's concerned?'

'Well, he did try and save us in the Chamber,' Harry pointed out fairly. 'And at the end of term, with Pettigrew and all. And he stopped my broomstick chucking me off, back in my first Quidditch match – don't you remember?'

Ron crossed his arms. 'Cause he knows Dumbledore'd sack him if you died,' he said stubbornly. 'That doesn't mean he's not a git.'

'No, it doesn't,' Harry agreed, scowling himself as he thought back on his most recent interactions with the Potions Master. 'But he didn't steal it. He found it.'

'Found it?' Hermione repeated. 'What do you mean?'

'Apparently, it was at the bottom of a cabinet in a disused classroom,' Harry explained. 'He recognised it because you're right, Ron – they were at school together. And I guess my mum used to wear it a lot. Her initials are on the back.'

He handed the pendant to Hermione, who passed it in turn to Ron, each of them looking curiously at the little 'LE'.

'He brought it by last night,' Harry went on, looking at Hermione. 'I'd have told you but… it was odd, the whole thing. I wanted to sleep on it.'

Ron passed the pendant to Neville, who had watched the exchange like a table tennis match. His fingers shook slightly as he took it. 'It's beautiful, Harry,' Neville said quietly. He traced the fleur-de-lis etched into the front, as Harry had the first time he held it. 'Can you feel her in it?'

Harry frowned, watching Neville closely as he flipped the necklace to look at the initials. 'Yeah, I can,' he confessed, just as softly. 'Or I think I can, at least. Can… can you?'

Neville shook his head. 'Not in this,' he admitted. 'But it happens to me too – with the things they loved. It's like a part of them always remains, even when everything else is gone…'

He held out the necklace by its golden chain and Harry took it back, not quite knowing what to say. Ron and Hermione were both looking equal parts awkward and curious as they studied the pair of them.

'He's about to take your rook,' Harry warned Hermione, successfully diverting her attention back to the chess match.

'That's enough from the armchair general,' Ron grumbled, as Hermione made a move to salvage her position. 'It's cheating.'

'I would have spotted it,' Hermione hissed irritably.

Harry pretended to watch them play, but his mind ran farther and farther from the squabbling chessmen. He glanced at Neville out of the corner of his eye. The other boy also had his gaze on the match of strategy, chewing at his lip.

Harry wondered if Neville too was faking it. If he too was wishing his own parents had been the ones to bring in his birthday cake; if he was wondering what might have happened… if life had been just a bit more impartial. If people couldn't cheat. What they might have had, if the world were fair.

And he remembered, quite suddenly.

'Neville?' Harry called across the board. Neville looked up. 'I, er… I've a set of gobstones and a whole mess of sweets upstairs. Do you want to come and help me bring them down?'

'All right,' Neville agreed, climbing to his feet.

'We'll be back, yeah?' Harry told the others.

Neither Ron nor Hermione answered, bent low over their respective sets. Hermione gave an indeterminate sort of wave.

'Come on,' Harry said to Neville. He led the way up the staircase.

The dormitory was darkened, lit only by the flickering candles on the little tables next to the beds. Harry pointed his wand at the sconces as they walked in to brighten their path. Neville stopped walking.

'Whoa – how'd you do that?'

Harry paused too, turning. 'What?'

Neville gestured to the now flaming sconces on the walls. Harry frowned at him. 'You did it without speaking, Harry,' Neville explained, still sounding awed. 'How? We haven't had nonverbal wandwork yet.'

Harry looked down at the wand still in his hand. He ran the other self-consciously over the nape of his neck. 'Dunno,' he admitted. 'I've been learning – a bit…'

But that was only really in his wandless lessons with Snape, and Neville wasn't to know of them.

'It's odd though, I usually have loads of trouble with it,' he said truthfully. 'Suppose I've just seen Dumbledore do that so many times now.…'

He shrugged noncommittally. It really _was_ only a minor spell, and he had much more important things to discuss.

'Come here.'

He gestured Neville over to the foot of his bed, where he'd stowed his beat-up rucksack. From the front pocket, he retrieved the photographs that Sirius had made him at Shell Cottage – the duplicates from the album they had perused on the sofa. Harry surreptitiously unbent one corner as he smoothed them out, before handing the photographs to his friend.

Neville stared down in wonder at the first picture – the one that showed Lily and Alice Longbottom stood together, both heavily pregnant.

'Harry!' he breathed in quiet amazement, watching his mother throw back her honey-coloured hair. 'This is… it's _amazing_. Where… where did you get them? How –'

'Sirius, and Remus,' said Harry. 'A few weeks back. Look at the other.'

Neville flipped to the second photograph. He smiled at the pair of babies.

'We knew each other,' Harry said softly. ' _They_ knew each other – when we were small. Did you know?'

Neville shook his head slowly, though his eyes remained on the moving figures in the photograph. 'Gran never said. And my mum and dad…'

'I know,' said Harry, when Neville did not finish. 'Sirius told me.'

Neville glanced up at that, looking nervous. 'I… have you –'

'No,' Harry assured him. 'I haven't told anyone else – not even Ron and Hermione. It isn't my place to tell.'

Neville let out a sigh of relief. He flushed. 'It isn't that I'm embarrassed, or anything,' he said self-consciously. 'It's just that… it's hard. It's hard for me to talk about. I'm sure some of them know already, from their own parents, but…'

Harry clapped a hand on his shoulder. 'You don't have to explain it, Neville. I understand. Better than most, I reckon… though even I can't really imagine what it must have been like for you. You shouldn't have to talk about it, if you don't want to. I just thought you might like the photos.'

Neville smiled. 'I do.'

He held them out to Harry, but Harry shook his head. 'Those are yours to keep. I've got copies.'

'Really?' asked Neville brightly. 'Thanks, Harry!'

Harry nodded once. He turned back to his trunk to fish out the promised game and sweets. 'Help me with these. Ron and Hermione might kill each other if we don't get on.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus retired to his quarters as early as he could. He did not relish prolonging his time in the company of the werewolf and Black, who had lingered after supper to have a drink with the others once the teenagers had made their exit. He would have _preferred_ not to attend the birthday celebrations either – but he doubted whether his tenuous peace with Minerva and Albus would survive a blatant snub to the boy so soon after their lectures.

The room was dark when he sought its refuge – colder and damper than anywhere else in the castle. Severus relaxed in the familiar coolness. He had never much loved the heat of high summer. Not since the summers had stopped loving him. He lit the fire more to stave off the damage such heavy air might do his books than for any particular warmth.

Severus eschewed libation tonight. He was not in the mood for drink. Instead, he walked with unusual aimlessness about his sitting room. He was weary, but it was far too early for rest.

His fingers brushed the closed piano, but he did not uncover the keys. The sight of it brought only thoughts of her: her photograph hidden in the bench; her song ringing in his ears; and her son with another, who had so unwisely burst in upon his last attempt to entice the sweetness of memories long supressed.

He fingered a volume or two on the crowded bookshelves. But his mind was ill-suited to reading or research tonight. He glanced briefly at the tea table, where fifth-year syllabi were laid out for revision… but the thought of beginning the task made him wearier still.

Severus had just about decided that a drink was what he needed after all, when a knock upon his door interrupted the thought. He eyed it for a moment in silence, unwilling to acquiesce to the command. He assumed the caller would be Albus.

Severus had no desire to speak with the headmaster again just now. He had not yet shaken the unease of their stony conversation that disastrous night... and though their discussion that afternoon had not been nearly as fraught with disapproval, it had been no less taxing on Severus' nerves. With the Dark Lord returned to Britain, they could no longer afford to wait for Draco's departure to entice Lucius into arranging a meeting with Nott. They could not afford any additional unknown variables. If the Dark Lord was seeking assistance – they must know.

Which meant that however much Severus wished he could slip from the room, he could not. This summons, like the many to come, must be answered.

He flicked his wand at the door to release its charm.

'Enter.'

But the visitor was not the headmaster. To Severus' surprise and almost instantaneous annoyance, Remus Lupin's head appeared around the edge of the wood.

'Severus, may I?'

'As I have just given my consent, it seems redundant to pose the query,' Severus shot back, though neither his tone nor his cross-armed stance at the opposite wall invited comradery.

Lupin did not seem to notice, or perhaps he did not care. He pushed the door gently closed behind him – without, Severus was glad to see, admitting another. One hand rubbed the shabby sleeve of his opposite arm against the chill. In the other fist, he clenched the neck of a glinting bottle.

'Merlin, it's freezing down here, Severus.'

The Potions Master did not reply. Without invitation, the other man sat himself on the edge of one of Severus' leather armchairs, set the bottle on the table before him and conjured two glasses. He raised his eyebrows questioningly at Severus.

'I thought, perhaps, a nightcap?'

Severus glared at the wine. It was a rare, very good vintage. One of his favourites, in fact. It probably cost more galleons than Remus Lupin had ever seen.

Albus' donation then.

'I was planning an early evening,' he said shortly. The protest was not as adamant as he had intended – it really _was_ an enticing choice.

Lupin turned his wrist to see the face of his watch. 'It's not yet nine,' he pointed out. 'Surely you could not have meant to turn in already?'

Severus scowled. 'What of your lapdog?' he demanded rather nastily. 'I was under the impression you both would be leaving tonight.'

Lupin shrugged. 'He went up to see the kids in the Tower. He wasn't quite ready to go. I'd estimate it'll be an hour or so before I can drag him off again.'

'And you've left him to visit with his godson while you… have a _drink_ , with me?'

Lupin grinned, popping the stopper of the wine though Severus' consent was still outstanding. 'I did not see the need to inform him of my own intentions. Sirius is not my keeper.'

'No… but you _are_ his.'

Lupin did not acknowledge the snide remark. He held out a glass.

Severus took the stem with only slight resentment. He seated himself in the armchair farthest from the unwanted companion, swilling the wine before testing it. The tannins were just as smooth as he remembered.

Lupin sipped his own glass with apparent appreciation. His eyes roamed the room interestedly, resting for a moment on the piano before finding the parchment on the tea table. He smiled at it, his expression slightly wistful.

'You've been lesson-planning.'

Severus inclined his head.

Lupin sighed. 'I shall miss it.'

Severus gave a grunt. 'You did not have to abandon the post,' he pointed out.

He was no great fan of Remus Lupin's… but between the werewolf and the ex-Auror, he'd take nine cycles of the moon _every_ time.

Lupin smiled sadly. 'I did,' he disagreed. 'It was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make… but sometimes we must sacrifice, for those we love. We must put the good of others above our own selfish desires.'

Severus narrowed his eyes but did not comment. Lupin did not seem to require a response.

'Teaching was a joy I never thought I'd have,' he went on. 'Though my tenure was brief, I will be forever grateful I had the chance to experience it at all.'

Again, Severus did not comment. He could not honestly agree. Teaching, for him, had always been a duty. A post he had taken at the request of both masters. He did not _dislike_ the duty, precisely. But he had never found true joy in his role. He had never, he supposed, allowed himself the chance. To mix emotion and obligation was to muddy the waters. And Severus operated – survived, even – by keeping his life in as many neat and ordered boxes as he could. Disorder beget chaos… and chaos led to mistakes.

Yet another reason that sharing casual wine with an enemy threatened more than just Severus' nerves.

Lupin took another sip, leaning back into the chair. Most visitors – the few that Severus entertained – tended to complain of the leather's stiffness about this time. Albus himself often conjured one of his own purple chintz armchairs in huffy exasperation. The werewolf, however, appeared quite at his leisure.

'I spoke to Harry today.'

 _Ah_. So there was a greater point after all.

'What an unexpected endeavour,' Severus said. 'After you came to this castle to attend the boy's celebration.'

With that infuriating patience, Lupin ignored the sarcasm. 'It was very kind of you to give him that pendant.'

Severus was not surprised that Potter had confided their conversation to Lupin… he had been almost certain he would, after leaving the boy with nothing short of an instruction to speak to the werewolf or Black about Lily.

He was _slightly_ intrigued that the boy had obviously _not_ shared the confrontation that preceded his visit to Gryffindor Tower… though he was fairly grateful for the lack of a two-on-one duel he was sure such insight would have precipitated. He was certain he could have handled Black alone – but together with Lupin he might have been at a disadvantage. And Minerva did hate it so when the flagstones were marred.

He kept his face masklike as he answered, waving the hand that held the wine dismissively. 'A trinket discovered in Slughorn's former classroom.'

'Was it?' the wolf challenged.

There was far too much smug knowledge in his face for Severus' comfort. He stared resolutely back. 'Indeed. Next to worthless – which I suppose was why Slughorn did not snap it up.'

'Is it now?'

Severus' eyes flashed. 'Perhaps you do not have an eye _trained_ enough in precious stones to recognise,' he said nastily. 'But the pendant is obsidian, not onyx. I doubt it would fetch so much on the market as to pay for one glass of this wine.'

'Not all value is measured in coin,' Lupin pointed out.

Severus smirked. 'Perhaps. But sentiment and well wishes do not buy bread, Lupin.'

Lupin gave a tiny smile around another sip.

'You could just tell him, you know,' he suggested casually.

Severus stiffened. 'There is nothing to tell.'

The wolf, apparently, could not read the warning in his voice. 'Severus, Harry has precious few links to his family as it is. And he is not a child any longer. I am certain he could –'

'Do not talk of things you don't understand, wolf,' Severus spat furiously. 'Those who speak of what they _think_ they know often find too late that silence would have been the more prudent course.'

But Lupin did not back down. 'You loved her,' he said bluntly, the compassion in his gaze only growing as Severus' ire took hold. 'There is no shame in that, Severus.'

' _Shame_?' Severus repeated, forgetting in his heated fury to deny the accusation. 'You think it is for _shame_ that I desist confiding in Potter's brat like a loose-lipped schoolboy?'

'I think you are unable to admit, Severus, that you knew – and loved – Lily Potter. I think, perhaps, you consider it a weakness. Or you feel to acknowledge it would let the world glimpse a fraction of the humanity you have striven so tirelessly to dispel. Perhaps you have even managed to convince yourself of its inconsequentiality.'

Severus glared. Suddenly, the wine tasted of acid. 'You go too far, Lupin! I have told you before to mind your own and leave me to mine. You have no idea… no _idea_ of what you speak. And if you breathe a word of your insipid rumourmongering to Potter _or_ to your imprudent companion, I shall –'

'It is not my place to reveal your secrets, Severus,' Lupin agreed, bowing his head. 'But I urge you to reconsider. Tell him, at least, that you knew her as a boy. He has but a pittance of knowledge of her childhood. As it is, you dangle tantalising hints, and Harry is not a fool. He may one day put it together on his own, whether you share the information or not. Tell him of your friendship, if you cannot bring yourself to speak the whole of the truth.'

Severus stared. His momentary shock that someone could be so simultaneously interfering and insufferable robbed him of speech.

'Even if I were so inclined to confide in Potter's insolent brat,' he hissed at last through gritted teeth, 'Which I am _not_ , Lupin – I could not.'

Lupin barely flinched. 'Harry is not his father, Severus,' he said softly instead. 'And James was a good man, in the end. You did not know him as I –'

Severus jerked automatically. 'Do not demean my intelligence or what remains of your own. I knew Potter as well as ever I wished, Lupin. If he died twice the man he had been a boy, he remained not half what she deserved.'

A grimace of pain crossed Lupin's features. But still, he did not allow anger to colour his tone. 'We will never see eye to eye on James, Severus. But Harry –'

'Remains his father's son,' Severus insisted. 'And even were he a saint, Lupin – his mind has a direct connection to the Dark Lord's. Do not tell me you are naïve enough not to realise what that may come to mean.'

'We do not know that he will ever return, Severus. War may never –'

'Of _course_ he will return, Lupin,' Severus interrupted viciously. 'Of _course_ we will be at war once more. And when that time comes, and the Dark Lord has a direct doorway into Potter's mind at his disposal? You would have me risk my own life – the safety of our entire organisation – just to coddle one headstrong teenager?'

'We don't know _what_ will come of that,' Lupin disagreed. 'And it does not change that to tell Harry the truth remains the –'

'The Truth!' Severus echoed in a sneer. 'You are as ignorant as the boy! You see in black and white. You speak as if information may be thrown about frivolously – with no regard to the practicalities of the world in which we live.'

'And you speak as if truth has no value.'

'Truth is not a right, nor even a privilege, Lupin. You ought to know – you have lived it. Truth is a burden far more often than it is ever a blessing.'

Lupin was frowning deeper than ever. 'Severus, Harry deserves to hear it.'

'Deserving has nothing to do with it!' Severus spat with a harsh, cold laugh that reminded even himself eerily of his dormant master. 'What use is truth to anyone? The truth will not save his life, Lupin. It may very well destroy us all. What does it matter what he deserves? James Potter did not deserve her. _She_ did not deserve to die. Yet he won out. And she is gone.'

'And her son _lives_!' Remus cried, finally losing his own temper as he slammed his now empty wine glass to the table. 'You rant at my inability to remember the past, Severus – yet _you_ cannot forget it. You cannot see past your feelings for James –'

'Do _not_ –'

'You pine after a woman long dead –'

'I will NOT listen to –'

'And yet you cannot recognise that a part of her lives still, Severus! Breathes and walks and grows… just as much Lily as he is James. You would shun him, ostracise him, degrade him – all because you choose to see the father you hated, rather than the mother you grew up with, befriended, loved –'

'AND _KILLED_!'

Severus bellowed the words. The shout was uncharacteristic – but not nearly so much so as the admission itself. The confession was pulled from him against his very will – anguished, raw.

Lupin stared, finally – mercifully – stunned out of his insufferable needling. His gaze was confused and wary in equal measure, but from the slight pallor to his cheeks Severus suspected the wolf recognised the words for what they were.

Truth – in all its naked, terrible power.

'Is that what you wish me to tell her boy, Lupin?' Severus demanded, his voice returned to his usual unaffected silk – emotion firmly suppressed. 'Is that, do you think, the confidence I should impart in the mind of an impetuous teenager with a direct connection to the Dark Lord's psyche? Shall I tell him that Lily Evans was the one light in a darker childhood than even he had known; my dearest friend, my….'

But he could not say it.

'And then, shall I tell him that when we parted ways – when she married his _dearly_ departed father and built a family in Godric's Hollow – _I_ brought about her end? That every time he replays the memory of the night she took the Dark Lord's curse – watches her corpse hit the floor – he can know it was _I_ who put it there?'

'Severus, we all of us have blamed ourselves for Lily and James' deaths,' Lupin said softly, though his face had lost more colour still. 'Sirius, myself, Albus… even Harry. Just because you made mistakes; just because you served _him_ – it does not put you at fault for –'

'The Dark Lord went after her because of _me_ ,' Severus hissed in a deadly whisper. 'Because of information _I_ provided, Lupin. Lily… the boy… they were only _in_ such danger – only _hunted_ – because of me.'

He whipped back the left sleeve of his robes, flashing the brand before Lupin's face, which had finally sunk into grey.

The Mark… darker, clearer, than it had been in years.

He could feel the burn of it now. Not the summons – but the searing spell that had etched it there.

'This was my gift. My eternal reward. Such an honour it was, to know my information had so pleased my master. To be counted at last among his most faithful.'

He ran his thumb over the skull.

'So what say you, Lupin?' he challenged, raising his eyes again to the wolf's face. 'Shall I tell him? Shall I stand in it? Will it help him, do you think… your precious Truth?'

For a moment, he thought Lupin might be sick. His face went from ashen to a ghastly green, then paled again as he rose from the armchair.

Severus thought perhaps the wolf would make to strike him, but he did not. Instead, Lupin turned away from the sitting area, pacing a triangle between the carpet, the door and the hearth. He ran a hand through his hair, then cupped both at his mouth. He muttered to himself. Once or twice, Severus saw his right arm reach for his pocket… but never did the fingers find the wand. Three times, he stopped his stride and whirled with his mouth half-open. Each time, he turned away again without uttering the question.

Severus let him go. He flicked his wand at the bottle to refill his wine glass, and tracked the wolf's walk with his eyes in silence.

'That can't have been it,' Lupin said at last.

He had stopped for the fourth time, coming to stand at the chair he'd so casually helped himself to at the start of this lifelong hour. His hands were shaking where they gripped the back.

'That can't be all, Severus. You could not have known he would… you would _never_ … Even after all that time. Lily –'

'Of course I did not realise to _whom_ the information would lead,' Severus spat, irritation renewed. 'But that is neither here nor there. It was I who brought it. I who sent him. And I – ultimately – who killed her.'

Lupin stared hard at him again. This time, he did not move to deny it.

'What did you tell him?'

'It is immaterial,' said Severus. 'All that matters is that it was enough.'

But Lupin would not break the gaze. 'He was after Harry,' he pointed out, eyes darkening. 'Why? What could _you_ have told him that would –'

'Speculate as you like,' Severus interrupted. 'But they are words I have long vowed never to repeat again.'

Another long silence.

'But you regretted it,' Lupin stated. 'That was it, wasn't it? That's what turned you; why you began to spy for the Order? When he started to hunt them, you went to Dumbledore…'

Severus merely stared.

Lupin came around the back of the chair. He sank into it again, his head in his hands. His sandy hair was thoroughly mussed when at last he raised it. Severus was appalled to see that his eyes had gone quite teary.

'But she died,' he rasped out. 'Lily and James both. And Harry…'

'Tries every fortnight to join them,' Severus growled resentfully.

Lupin studied him for several long moments in the firelight.

'You were right.'

Severus gave a humourless smirk. 'Might I get that written down?'

Lupin ignored him. 'You _can't_ tell him,' he consented at last. 'Not yet, anyway. Not now.'

'And _you_ cannot breathe a word to the mutt,' Severus growled fiercely.

Lupin gave a stiff nod. He poured himself a final glass of wine, guzzling it with such brazen disregard for its finery that Severus would have voiced his disgust, had not their chat robbed him of the emotion to care. When he'd finished, he vanished the glass and empty bottle with a sigh.

'And you'll go back.'

It was not precisely a question, but Severus inclined his head.

'You may be killed,' Lupin pointed out.

'A risk I made peace with thirteen years ago.'

'And Harry –'

'I have told you before, Lupin, that we are in this war for different reasons,' Severus interrupted quietly. 'You fight for the living. But I? I fight for the dead.'

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Twenty**

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thank you so much! Very glad you are still enjoying the story and reviewing. I hope you'll continue to like where it goes in Chapter 21!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! I apologise – I know it was a long wait… just over two months (!), but I will endeavour to keep the next one much shorter. I am glad you enjoyed the chapter at any rate, and hope you will like the next!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for the review! Happy to hear you enjoyed the chapter. As to whether things will continue smoothly… well, we shall see. Hope you like Chapter 21!

 **Master of Energy** : Thank you for reading and reviewing – I really enjoyed your comments and am very flattered to hear how much you've enjoyed the story thus far! I'll take a bit here to address your queries and concerns.

As to Moody… a character I am quite enjoying spending some time with this book. He was a big reason for my delay in releasing this chapter, as a matter of fact, as I am working with his story a bit – though more than that I dare not say at this stage of things. I'll be interested to see the readers' thoughts as that aspect of things unfolds. As to the spiders and the Unforgivable Curses – we will certainly have that lesson, and it shall be interesting (I hope) to see Harry's reaction, given his familiarity with the Cruciatus Curse from (?) in Edinburgh and Pettigrew at the end of the second book. Very pleased you liked the Edinburgh storyline, btw. I promise the payoff on that comes later in this novel.

Intent and power _is_ everything – as both Snape and Dumbledore keep repeating in their instruction to Harry. This is a main focus of wandless magic; and a core principal of Albus' instruction on the theory of magic and the nature of magic itself that he has been teaching Harry for several years now (that intent of the caster, not a spell itself – with certain finite exceptions – is what creates Light or Dark magic). I'm certain I've discussed this in review responses before, particularly to the middle of Part II, but it pays to call back to it now. Bit by bit, this will be expanded upon… and I encourage you to keep it in mind, because it will be very, _very_ central to a key plot point later in the series. I cannot comment on your discussion of particular spells without risking too much of a reveal, but you are musing along important lines.

Ah, Cho. I take no sides in the epic war of Shippers on this website out of experience… but I can truthfully tell you that I have got at least fifty messages as to who Harry ought to end up with – and Cho is as polarising an option as anyone (though, truthfully, I think I've yet to have a character come up who _hasn't_ also come with her own set of disapprobation). Ultimately, of course, I shall probably pair him with someone… and I would be lying if I did not admit I have plotted already who that will be. Cho is a first crush, and I can't promise that her role will be abandoned here (nor will I say what exactly her role will _be_ )… but I _can_ promise that Harry's 'love life' will have more than one chapter, and I do not think you'll be disappointed with where he ends up (or, at least, I hope you will not).

As to the flashbacks… well, I know some people enjoy the story of the past more than the present; for others, the present is the preferable read. To me, the present is so informed by the past that scenes from the past will always be an important part of developing the characters of Child of Hogwarts – and I do not differentiate between the two. It is all one story, for me; not meant as flashbacks, but really as more working between two timelines. In Part II, the story was as much about James, Lily, Sirius, Peter and Snape's history as it was about Harry's present (hence the _Marauder's Legacy_ title); whereas this book is about the _Master of Death_ , and Albus' past with Grindelwald will play a pivotal role. That said, I try and will try to keep the flashbacks integrated at a reasonable level, and I hope everyone will enjoy what does come of the past.

Very glad again that you like the series so much – and thank you for your compliments! I hope you will enjoy the new chapter, and please do continue to share your thoughts!

 **Guest Reviews from 'Hi' and 'Faran'** : Thank you so much for your kind words and reviews! Very happy that you've been enjoying the series – and I am sorry for the wait on Chapter 21. I do hope you'll like it.

 **Guest Review (Untitled, 12 May)** : Thank you for reviewing, and for reading and re-reading! Its lovely to hear that you like the story so much, and though I wasn't able to post on the 12th, I'm happy to be able to post now… and I hope you will enjoy the new instalment!

 **Guest Review (Untitled, 17 May)** : Thanks for the review, and for checking the update on my profile page! I'm sorry it took so long, but I hope you'll enjoy it!


	22. A Tale of Fair Fortune

**A/N:** Ah, my darlings – I know, I know… this update is _way_ overdue and I am a horrible person. Forgive me. I wish I had an exciting excuse… but truthfully it was merely that I was _very_ busy at work. Autumn, unfortunately, is likely to be just as mad – but I do have more of the year already completed so I am hopeful those updates will be timely.

I feel compelled to note that this chapter makes reference to a short fable contained in _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. For those who do not own a copy of the book, the tale of 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' is accessible online, and a short read, but I will summarise it here. Please feel free to skip ahead if you are familiar already.

The tale concerns a fabled fountain capable of providing 'fair fortune' evermore to those who bathe in its waters. The fountain sits in a secluded garden, and once a year a chink in the wall allows the passage of a person inside. Three witches meet in the crowd on the purported day: Asha, who suffers an incurable illness; Altheda, who has lost her home, money and wand; and Amata, who has suffered heartbreak. The women make a pact to assist one another to reach the fountain. When the chink appears and Asha is pulled inside, she grabs hold of Altheda, who grabs hold of Amata, who is caught on the armour of a disgraced knight, Sir Luckless. All four are pulled into the garden. The knight attempts to bow out of the quest – as he is Muggle and rather unskilled and at the end of the quest only one can bathe – but eventually the four attempt the journey together. They face various tests requiring payment: a bloated worm, who feeds on Asha's tears of despair as 'proof of pain'; an endless hill surmountable only with payment of Altheda's sweat to the ground as 'fruit of labours'; and an uncrossable stream which relents upon payment of Amata's painful memories as 'treasure of past'. They reach the Fountain, but before they might decide who should bathe, Asha's illness takes a desperate turn. Altheda gathers rare herbs from the Fountain's garden and creates a potion with Sir Luckless's water gourd, which revives Asha and cures her illness. Asha – now well – no longer needs the Fountain. Altheda, now in possession of the knowledge to create the cure, which can bring her great wealth, no longer needs the Fountain. And Amata, whose memories of her broken heart were swept downstream, realises she no longer needs the Fountain to move forward. Sir Luckless bathes in reward for his chivalry, and is thereafter emboldened and confesses his love to Amata, who returns the sentiment. The four make their way from the garden, and none of them realise that there is no magic water in the Fountain at all.

I hope you'll all enjoy the events of 'A Tale of Fair Fortune'.

As always…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

 **A Tale of Fair Fortune**

 _'Get up, get up!'_

 _Albus groaned, rolling over to the cooler side of the pillow and away from the soft but persistent blows. Fingers assaulted his eyelids, pulling them forcibly apart. Albus kept his gaze deliberately unfocused._

 _Undeterred as ever by his brother's obvious apathy, Aberforth abandoned the bedside assault and launched himself onto the mattress, landing painfully on Albus' knees._

 _'Oof!'_

 _'Ah – I_ knew _you could hear me!'_

 _'Go away, Abe. I'm sleeping.'_

 _'But you_ can't _, Al – it's your birthday!'_

 _'And it will still be my birthday when the sun rises.'_

 _Aberforth gave a scathing hiss. 'Don't be drama, Al. The sun's been up for hours.'_

 _'Dramatic,' Albus corrected automatically. He tried to turn away again, but the damage had been done. Besides, now that he had properly awoken, he was too excited to go back to sleep. With an air of resignation, he pushed himself up on his elbows. Aberforth gave a whoop of delight._

 _'Daddy says he'll take us into Diagon Alley this afternoon,' Aberforth squeaked excitedly. 'And Mummy's making teisen mel.'_

 _Albus shot him a smirk as he rummaged for trousers. Teisen mel was both their favourite treat. 'You'd better go and put proper clothes on too,' he commented, nodding at his brother. Aberforth giggled and stole from the room._

 _The delicious aroma of sizzling bacon and sausages greeted them at the base of the staircase. The brothers grinned at each other appreciatively and took off in a race for the kitchen._

 _Though the hour could not yet have reached seven, Albus was unsurprised to find the kitchen in a rush of activity. Percival and Kendra Dumbledore had always been early risers. His father was humming a complicated tune to himself as he tended the bacon, flipping several eggs through the air with his wand. A bit of grease bounced off his sage-coloured chest without marring the fabric. Kendra encouraged her children to don Muggle clothing – the better with which they might run carefree about the village. But Percival, who did not have his wife's comfort in the Muggle world, rarely discarded his robes. A small pile of parcels was just visible through the propped-open door to the dining room._

 _Without turning from the saucepan, Percival pocketed the wand and transitioned his tune into 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow'. Albus half-laughed, half-screamed as he was flung into the air and bounced off the ground. Percival turned at last, beaming, to count off the bumps._

 _'Ten… and one for knuts, two for luck, three for the old man's hopping pot!'_

 _With a casual flick of his hand, Percival released a pink-faced Albus to his feet. Aberforth hopped up and down on his toes. 'Me next, me next!'_

 _Percival laughed. 'Bumps only for the man of the day, little goblin. But I think I might save you breakfast, if you promise to be good.'_

 _'I'm_ always _good.'_

 _Their father tilted his head, as though in deep contemplation. 'Hmm… Perhaps compared to a mountain troll…'_

 _'What's this now?'_

 _Kendra came through the door to the back garden, her hair slightly flyaway and four bottles of fresh milk floating before her. She sent them to a counter and stooped to kiss Albus on the cheek._

 _'Happy birthday, darling.'_

 _Aberforth roared with laughter as his father caved, sending him up to the ceiling with a careless wave._

 _'Me too, me too!'_

 _Ariana had come padding in. She pulled insistently at Percival's robes._

 _'And who'll mind the bacon?' he demanded melodramatically, sending his daughter into the air too so that he looked rather like a double marionette operator._

 _Kendra flicked her wand at the hob. Breakfast began to plate itself._

 _'Enough, Percival. Are we bringing up children or sprites? Everyone into the dining room now. Let Albus open his presents…'_

 _They enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and several hours in the garden afterward. When they finally returned to the house before tea, it was bursting with the mouth-watering scent of baking honey. Kendra chivvied them all upstairs to change and then forced each to sit to be smartened._

 _'Don't pull so hard, Mummy!' Aberforth complained, trying and failing to squirm away from her reach. On the chaise in the corner, Ariana giggled. Her flaxen curls were already tied up in neat, violet ribbons._

 _Kendra tsked and straightened his head. 'If you had brushed your hair before sleep, you would not have awakened with tangles. Every decision has consequences, child. Some we cannot foresee, but this particular unpleasantness could have been easily predicted.'_

 _'It still hurts,' Abe grumbled._

 _'Mummy, can't I go with them?'_

 _'Not today, darling. This outing is just for the boys.'_

 _'We'll be back for supper, Ari,' Albus promised as he switched out with his brother. 'And we'll bring you something lovely from town.'_

 _Kendra began herding the lot into the dining room once more._

 _'A new kitten?' his sister begged, taking Albus' hand. 'A violet one?'_

 _Aberforth pulled a face. '_ _Cats don't come in_ violet _.'_

 _'I can make these violet though,' Albus whispered conspiratorially to his sister as they took their seats. 'Do you want to see?'_

 _She clapped her hands excitedly. Albus put a palm over the nearest honeycake and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and concentrated. The teissen mel seemed to grow hotter beneath his fingers._

 _'Oo!' His sister began to clap. 'Do it again Al! Again!'_

 _He obliged her, laying his hand above each of the little treats. Soon they were surrounded by discs of violet._

 _'You made them taste odd,' Aberforth complained, stealing a bite._

 _'Did not! And you aren't supposed to eat yet –'_

 _'Do the cloth,' Ariana commanded. She patted at the table._

 _Percival roared with laughter as he re-entered the room, floating a tea service ahead of him. Kendra followed with several serviettes. She smiled, but shook her head._

 _'I think he's done enough for now,' she countered gently. She bent to kiss Albus' cheek. 'Much more and you shall be too tired for your afternoon adventure.'_

 _Percival winked at them. As he set the tea service down, the tablecloth changed colour. Ariana giggled._

 _It was three hours later when the owl arrived. They had just left the apothecary. Albus' pockets were overflowing with the makings of a 'secret' potion his father had agreed to allow him to brew (with supervision). As they crossed the alley towards the menagerie, it dove from the sky like a careening bludger. Albus felt a strange chill come over him at the sight._

 _Percival had to duck to avoid impalement. He shook his head as the bird dropped its burden and zoomed off. 'Your mother must have forgot coriander again,' he joked, breaking the seal. 'I do worry so when she –'_

 _His eyes unfocused, all traces of humour fading from his features. The letter began to quake slightly in his grip._

 _'Father?' Albus asked, taking a tentative step nearer. 'Father, what –'_

 _Before he could finish the query, Percival had seized his arm and yanked him rather roughly to his side. 'Come, we must return. Where is your brother? Aberforth? Aberforth!'_

 _His brother – who had wandered ahead to peruse the kittens in the menagerie window – turned in confusion. Percival beckoned again._

 _'Come along. It is time to go home.'_

 _Aberforth pouted. 'But we've barely arrived! And look at this white one. Ari would –'_

 _Percival's face tightened. 'Aberforth, I said come. You will not enjoy it should I need to ask again.'_

 _The seven-year-old scuffed his boots angrily against the cobblestones, but he plodded back towards them. Albus looked up at his father. 'What is it, father? What's happened?'_

 _'Your sister has been injured,' Percival explained. He closed the remaining distance to Aberforth in two long strides, pulling him in by the wrist. 'We must return and help.'_

 _Aberforth ceased his struggles, looking suddenly frightened. Albus felt that chill creep along his spine once more. 'There's been an accident?' he asked in a small voice._

 _His father's hands – wrapped around both their shoulders for the apparition – clenched almost painfully. 'No, not an accident,' he disagreed in a low voice filled with fury. 'True cruelty is done on purpose.'_

'Albus – gracious, are you well?'

He sat up with a slight gasp, uncharacteristically unnerved. Minerva lit the candle next to the bed with the hand not pressed to his chest. She frowned at him.

Albus forced a smile. 'Quite well, my dear,' he assured her. 'Just a dream.'

She straightened. 'You have never been prone to nightmares, Albus.'

For her, he softened his expression. 'It wasn't a nightmare, merely a memory. I do believe I was startled only by the vividness of the recollection. Go back to sleep. I certainly intend to.'

She hesitated a moment. He doused the candle and laid back down. With a small sigh, Minerva followed suit. She pressed a kiss to his cheek.

'Happy Birthday.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Are you seriously going to ask me to analyse a children's story?'

It was the third of August. Harry and Albus were sat by the lake, lounging on an enormous scarlet quilt one of the House-elves had provided that looked as though it had been intended for Hagrid. They had set up a light luncheon, and Harry had convinced Albus to spend the afternoon outdoors for their lesson together rather than returning to the heat of the headmaster's tower. He had made this suggestion on the pretence that it was one of the most beautiful days of the summer thus far. In reality, however, it had been at the instruction of Minerva – who was decorating the Great Hall in celebration of Dumbledore's 113th birthday.

He was not sure that their ruse was lost on the headmaster. Yet Dumbledore – as was his wont – played gamely along all the same.

And it was truly a glorious day, Harry thought, as he leant back on his elbows and turned his face to the sun. A gentle breeze took the worst of the heat. On the surface of the lake before them, the basking Giant Squid waved one of its tentacles expectantly, hoping Harry might drop another bit of scone into the waters for him.

'I am seriously going to ask you how your assignment is coming along,' Albus agreed with a teasing smile. 'And I have told you before, Harry, that these are not mere children's stories.'

'But don't you want to enjoy yourself?' Harry needled. 'After all, it is your birthday.'

'I find nothing more enjoyable than the opportunity to teach, I assure you.'

But Harry did not think this was quite true. Or, at least, not when it came to this particular book. Though Dumbledore had told Harry that the stories were important, and that he himself had cherished this very same book since his own youth, Harry did not think the headmaster looked at all to be 'enjoying himself' when Harry worked at the Runic text. Indeed, Dumbledore's eyes seemed to tighten every time they came to rest on the aged leather. Perhaps he would not have noticed it in years past. But now that he knew Albus as well as he did, Harry could sense a wariness – and a weariness – that the book seemed to awaken in the headmaster. He could feel that this simple collection of fables created in Dumbledore a guarded sort of sadness each time he looked upon it. It was not unlike the expression he'd worn in Aberforth's rooms above the pub – where the portrait of their long-dead sister loomed heavy above the fireplace.

Why Dumbledore could feel such keen emotion at an ancient book of fairy stories, Harry could not fathom. And he did not dare to ask. Be that as it may, the headmaster was quite insistent in his wish that Harry should read and translate _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_.

It had taken quite a long time.

Though more than a month had passed since Harry had begun the study of Ancient Runes, he was not finding the subject any less difficult than he had done in their initial meetings. The symbols, even the simple ones, seemed incredibly complex in connotation. Harry had mastered the alphabet only to find that the alphabet itself was very rarely used – except in Runic long-hand. More often, the letters were compounded or altered to form entirely new characters, each of which had a separate and distinct meaning. Some had multiple. In the first few weeks of trying to make his way through the tiny compilation, Harry was sure he never came across the same rune twice. After a while, however, he began to recognise some of the more common symbols… though he still relied heavily on the syllabary Albus had purchased for him at the start of the holidays.

Today was the first lesson in the subject they had had since Harry had finished his translation of his first full story. Though chronologically this particular tale came second in the book, Albus had suggested its repetitive symbology might be an easier place to begin.

'So, what did you think of The Fountain of Fair Fortune?'

Harry tipped his face back toward Dumbledore, squinting in the bright sunlight. 'It's about three witches and a Muggle, searching for a solution to their problems. In the end, the Muggle wins out because he's the only one left with a problem to solve.'

Dumbledore gave him a quelling look. 'I had hoped you might go a bit deeper than that.'

Harry flashed a guilty smile. 'And… I suppose it's rather a pointless solution, as there isn't any magic in the Fountain after all.'

Now Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. 'No magic?' he repeated, sounding politely incredulous. 'You surprise me.'

Harry frowned. 'Well – that's how the story ends, isn't it? Beedle says the Fountain didn't actually have magical powers.'

'Ah, but it does not say there is no magic,' Dumbledore corrected. 'Merely that the water of the Fountain itself was not the panacea it was rumoured to be. The rune used translates to 'enchantment', not 'magic'.'

Harry shrugged. 'What's the dif–'

But he cut himself off at Albus' pointed look.

'Alright,' he agreed, sitting up a bit. 'I suppose the story is meant to show that we can't be selfish. That working together for a common goal is better than working for our own purposes.'

The headmaster nodded encouragingly. 'That is better,' he approved. 'Go on.'

'Well, they sort of need one another in the end, don't they? Each of the witches uses her own burden to get past the three tests: Asha's tears are the proof of pain; Altheda's sweat is the fruit of her labours; and Amata's memories of her former love are the treasure of the past. The story suggests that they might not have been able to reach the Fountain at all, if any of them had tried to go it alone.'

'Well spotted,' Albus agreed. 'Though in theory the Fountain's alms are meant only for one fortunate individual per annum, Beedle's moral here submits one alone would not have been able to complete the quest. Had the three heroines left any of the others behind, the remainder may well have failed.'

'But it still doesn't make much sense,' Harry pointed out. 'I mean – I see what you're saying; or what Beedle was saying, I suppose. But it really only applied to the journey, didn't it? Only one of them could have used the Fountain's water in the end either way. So… it was good of them all to team up to get there, but only one would have been able to actually bathe. And they didn't even land on who that would be before they set out.'

'Perhaps. But without the aide of the rest of the group, the chosen bather – whoever she or he was – could never have reached the Fountain at all.'

Harry nodded vaguely, not entirely convinced. 'Is that truly better though? And why not make the decision earlier? Really, Asha's need was obviously greatest from the beginning. They all should have known that.'

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. 'Do you think so?'

Harry gaped. 'Of course. She was physically ill, wasn't she? There was no cure for her condition. She was going to die without help – she nearly did!'

The headmaster nodded thoughtfully. 'Perhaps,' he repeated. 'Yet there is no indication – before the closing portion of the tale, of course – that what ailed Asha was indeed a fatal affliction. Even so, what of Altheda – who was destitute and stripped of her wand? Or of Amata, with wounds of the heart? Such trials can be just as deadly, particularly the latter.'

' _I_ wouldn't have done it,' Harry said stubbornly. 'I'd have let Asha have the water.'

'Yes, I do think you would have,' Albus agreed. 'But do not judge too harshly, Harry. For you have not yet felt the extent to which the others can burn. To set aside such pain for the needs of a stranger is not an easy thing, for the common man.'

Harry could not help his scepticism. 'But the others realised, in the end,' he reasoned. 'When Asha fell too ill to continue they knew she was the one who would need the help most. And they were able to work together to save her in time.'

Dumbledore nodded encouragingly. 'That they did. When Asha's condition took a desperate turn, her companions were able to relinquish their own desires. And what does that teach us?'

'Friendship,' Harry answered at once. 'They'd got to know each other, walking through the garden. Her life was more important than their other problems.' He scowled again. 'Which, really, it ought to have been from the beginning. I suppose they finally matured…'

'Maturity is the realisation that, at times, what we want is far less important than what we need. Heroism is the realisation that, at times, what _we_ need must come second to the needs of the world.'

Harry gave the headmaster a puzzled look. 'Well… it's not really the world, is it?'

Albus smiled. 'An adage of an old friend,' he explained. 'Yet still applicable here. The world is often relative. It may be an entire populace… or equally one person. I rather think, for our companions in the garden…'

'The world had shrunk to four,' Harry concluded for him. 'But it rather works out for everyone in the end, doesn't it? Altheda finds her way back to prosperity, Asha gets her cure and Amata realises she doesn't pine for her lost love any longer…'

'And Sir Luckless gets to bathe.'

Harry chuckled. 'For what it was worth,' he said, rolling his eyes. 'He only _thinks_ the Fountain changes his fortunes. But it meant –'

'A very great deal,' the headmaster insisted. 'Belief is a powerful thing, Harry. Belief in the impossible, belief in ourselves; but most especially belief in others. Sir Luckless – the Muggle with the least Magic headed into the garden – leaves with the most. It matters not that the water holds no enchantment. The prize, in the end –'

'Was Love?' Harry guessed, just a hint of sarcasm in his voice at the predictable moral. 'Because he gets the girl, in the end? Bit on the nose…'

'Romantic love is but one form of many,' Albus corrected softly. 'Beedle ends _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ very deliberately.'

'Pointing out that the water wasn't enchanted.'

Albus stared over his half-moon spectacles. Harry grinned, but acquiesced. 'He ends with their friendship,' he conceded. 'He says the four companions remained dear friends for the rest of their lives.'

'Indeed he does,' said Albus. 'Beedle concludes with the endurance of that love; contrasting the extraordinary in what appears to be mundane with the mundane in what has been touted as extraordinary. Asha, Altheda, Amata and Sir Luckless created their own magic – the most powerful magic – in the formation of the bond between them. _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ is not about the Fountain at all; for the magic was never in the destination. It was in the shared journey.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sand was everywhere. It littered the veranda, wearing the clapboards faster even than the sun and weather. Gusts of sea wind blew it against the walls and windows, crusting the panes with a salty grime. It crept under sofas, clogged the plumbing, ground against his toes inside their trainers. It was his constant companion – even between the bedsheets. Sirius did not think he would ever free every grain from his hair.

But he loved it all the same.

Shell Cottage was beginning to feel like… home. This came as a bit of a surprise. Sirius had thought the seclusion would prove maddening; the frustration at a continuation of his exile overwhelming. And, of course, he did have those days, particularly when a summer's rain shrunk their roaming range to the modest cottage and the daemons he could not seem to douse grew louder in his mind. But he had Remus. He had Harry – every now and again, at least. Isolated this Cornwall clifftop may be… but _isolation_ it was not. Sirius had had more than enough experience with both to spot the difference.

And, though Remus rarely alluded to it; though Albus had not raised the point; Sirius was not a fool. Shell Cottage was a retreat. A reprieve from the run and the fear. A place to recoup and heal. It was not a stronghold from which to wage war, and Albus had given no indication whatsoever that it was to be made so.

Sooner or later, Sirius knew, the respite would end. They would not stay forever in this tiny haven where the shadows dare not cast their pall.

So he embraced the audacity of the sand, and did his best to cherish it while he could. The nights did not seem quite so dark as once they had. He was waking Remus less and less – though as the second week of August brought the prelude to another moon, he supposed some credit must be given to lycanthropy.

This morning, he crept down the staircase to the sandy beach just after sunrise. He had never before been an early riser, but the journey was becoming habit in these weeks on the shore. The sand was cool beneath his toes, and damp with the clearing mists. He did not bother with trainers. Sirius rolled his shoulders and neck and took off into it.

He had taken to jogging the beach every morning – to the boundary line, then to the opposite, and the length once more before heading back. It was not a long run, but to do it shoeless in the sand still gave his muscles a satisfying burn. He had run every day before Azkaban. They had used to go together, when she'd been alive.

He had probably been faster in those years. But it seemed, for all he had lost, his legs could still manage to find their pace. He relished in the whip of sea breeze; the feel of the sand beneath his heels. Every day, his mind grew clearer. Every day, he breathed a bit easier.

And Sirius began to hope. As much as he'd stumbled, he was running now.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry had not had as much opportunity as he would have liked to peruse his new memories, what between his own birthday celebrations, Albus', and a timetable which felt almost as full as it did during the school term. Sirius and Remus had been by twice more for dinner since the end of July, and Dumbledore had allowed Harry to spend the sixth of August with them at Shell Cottage while he and Minerva attended meetings in London.

Harry had returned to Potions and Wandless Magic the day after Ron and Hermione left. Minerva pursed her lips when he appeared for breakfast with the Potions text, but she did not try to stop him. Dumbledore merely offered a plate of sausages and his signature twinkle.

He had not told Snape he was coming; and the Potions Master had given no comment apart from a request for his essay. Neither spoke again of the incident that had halted their progress, nor of the strange night in Gryffindor Tower. But Harry had taken to wearing his mother's pendant beneath his robes, and once or twice he saw Snape's gaze rise from powdered moonstone to linger on the golden chain.

Tonight's foray into the Pensieve came on the eve of Harry's final week at the castle – for the summer hols, at least. He would be going to the Weasleys' Sunday next for the fortnight before term started. As he had at the end of his first summer at Hogwarts, Harry felt a slight sense of disappointment at the coming end. But this time, the loss was well-muted by excitement – for the Quidditch World Cup was just around the corner.

'I fear if you do not make a selection soon, we shall both fall asleep in the watching.'

Harry jumped. He had not realised how long he had paused – hand outstretched over his silvery trove. Hastily, he ran his fingers across the smooth phial surfaces and pulled one up at random. It felt almost warm in his grip.

Albus chuckled as he took it, tipping the contents to swirl in the ancient basin on the desk. One of the delicate instruments on a shelf in the corner began to whistle softly. Dumbledore gave it a sideways glance but did not break from his task.

'Very well. Let us take the plunge.'

The scene felt different than others Harry had observed.

Today, they were back in the cottage at Godric's Hollow. Little Harry, standing just in front of them and muttering nonsense to himself as he shook a very tatty plush unicorn, was on the older side as far as these memories went. The headmaster and Minerva were there as well – heads bent together by the doorway to the kitchen. With a short nod, Minerva swung the door inward and disappeared behind it. Harry caught just a glimpse of his parents beyond, and was slightly nonplussed to see them glaring across the table at one another.

Through the bay window on which the cat reposed, the leaves on the trees of the village lane were a myriad of scarlet and gold. A few detached in a strong gust of wind. A couple with a child of about six hurried by in the distance, bundled heavily against the chill though the day was sunny.

Harry realised with a pang that Hallowe'en could not be far off.

' _Up_!'

The shrill demand pulled his gaze back to the sitting room. The tiny Harry had toddled to the headmaster-of-the-past's side, dragging his unicorn by the horn. The stuffed toy did not seem to appreciate this treatment. It gave several pitiful whinnies as its limbs bumped against the floor. Harry dropped it when he reached Albus, opening and closing both fists.

' _Up_ , Dums!'

'Albus, little one,' the headmaster corrected. He crouched to brush the top of the child's head, but the gesture was distracted. He did not lift the baby. Instead, he was watching the door to the kitchen with an expression of quiet concentration that older Harry recognised.

The headmaster was deeply worried.

The child, irritated at his neglect, began to fuss.

'Come here, you,' growled an unexpected voice.

Both Harrys whirled, just in time to see Sirius dart from the far sofa to swoop the baby up from the floor and toss him high in the air. Baby Harry gave a peel of laughter, and older Harry smiled. He had not realised.

'You can sense the difference, can you not?'

Harry turned to the Albus of the present, raising an eyebrow.

'How did you –'

'Your expression,' the headmaster answered vaguely. 'You have recognised it is Sirius' recollection.'

Harry grinned. 'Yeah, I did,' he agreed. 'There's a sort of… flavour to it, I suppose. Not unlike the way his casket felt with the spell the other day.'

Albus' smile grew as he nodded.

Sirius looked _young_. Very young. Harry had seen him at about this age in photographs before. But just like the first time he had watched his parents move and speak and _live_ , it was a different experience entirely. This Sirius – twenty-one or perhaps twenty-two, Harry supposed – was burlier than the one Harry knew, and seemed to stand perhaps a bit taller. He was deeply tanned, in a manner that suggested even this late into autumn he preferred to be outdoors. His teeth, as he beamed at his tiny godson, were almost unnaturally straight and white. His handsome features remained unmarred by lines, and he wore his dark hair several inches shorter.

But the greatest difference was in the eyes. Harry had always felt that Sirius had unusual eyes. Their colour reminded him of a stormy sky – and so often he thought they reflected his godfather's tempestuous moods; most given to lightness and laughter, but then prone to deep sorrow or frantic rage at the flick of a wand. Even in his moments of joy, Sirius' gaze seemed to harbour that deadened void at the edges… ready any moment to claim dominance again. Harry had heard Albus and Minerva discuss before how Azkaban still lingered there; what a change that had wrought. He did not think he had fully understood what they meant until now.

This Sirius' eyes were centuries younger… though Harry thought they still seemed strangely aged in his youthful face. But that deep, unyielding pain was gone. Dementors had not yet stolen their light. And the absence of their evil stunned him – as though someone had lifted a veil he had not known his godfather wore.

Sirius caught Harry from his third toss, bouncing him against his hip.

'Where's the unicorn, love?'

'Orn!' the baby squeaked, flapping a pudgy hand at the floor below.

Sirius flicked his wand, rescuing the disgruntled toy. Harry yipped excitedly as it was brought into his arms and nuzzled his face into its chest.

'You ought to clean that thing,' Minerva suggested, re-entering the room. 'It's revolting.'

Sirius grunted. He set Harry and the toy back on the floor together. 'He's a tough kid. Bit of dirt's not going to hurt him.'

Minerva sniffed huffily in apparent disagreement. But the baby, no longer distracted by Sirius' game, cast the toy aside and returned to his original purpose.

'Up, Dums,' he insisted, tugging at the old man's robes this time.

Sirius snorted his laughter. 'You did this to yourself, you know,' he advised – attempting and failing to coax Harry back by the waist. 'And Lily says _I'm_ the one who spoils him…'

'Dums!'

'It is Albus, Harry,' the headmaster corrected again. 'Albus Dumbledore.'

'Dums,' Harry repeated, nodding seriously. He stretched out his arms.

Minerva chuckled and patted Dumbledore's elbow. 'Sorry, Albus. But I'm afraid it is 'Dums' for now.'

The headmaster scooped the baby up at last. 'Very well,' he agreed with a martyred sigh and a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. 'Let me see here…'

He shifted Harry to fumble in a pocket. 'Ah – I thought I came prepared.'

With a flourish, he pulled a bag of sweets from the folds of his robes. Little Harry squealed with delight, clapping his hands together. Minerva eyed the packet suspiciously.

'Albus, he's still quite small. Are you certain that's –'

'They are perfectly safe,' Albus assured her. 'I spoke with the proprietor specifically.'

In the kitchen, James and Lily's voices became louder. Harry could not quite make out the conversation, but both he and his infant counterpart turned for the closed door with furrowed brows. Albus had noticed too. He flicked his wand to deaden the noise and glanced at Sirius, who was standing at the hearth with his arms crossed.

Sirius nodded. When he stepped forward, his expression cleared.

'Come along, Harry!' he said with bright enthusiasm, catching the sweets the headmaster tossed to him and levitating the giggling baby from Albus' arms to his own. 'What say we take these into the back garden, eh?'

'Eee!' Harry agreed eagerly, clapping again as they headed down the corridor.

Grown Harry wanted to follow the younger Albus into the kitchen, where his parents' mysterious row was growing. But the edges of the sitting room and the raised voices both began to fade as Sirius drew farther away.

'Go on,' his Albus encouraged, nodding after him. Harry wondered if he was imagining the way his expression seemed to mirror his doppelganger's.

They followed Sirius and the baby.

Harry and Albus could not feel the bite of the autumn air, of course, but Sirius summoned cloaks for himself and his young charge. When he'd finally managed to wrangle the tot into trainers (after several failed attempts, a near-to-black-eye and two tricky little charms), the pair and their unknown shadows proceeded through the back door and into a little walled garden. Harry immediately squirmed to be allowed down and Sirius obliged, handing the boy one of the sweets the headmaster had provided. He took one sticky, slobbery bite and held the half-eaten marshmallow out to his godfather. Sirius laughed.

'Very well done sharing, love,' he praised, mussing Harry's untidy hair. 'But I have my own here – see?'

Harry blinked and plopped to his bottom, continuing to suckle his treat. 'Some!' he beseeched, waving his filthy hand when it had gone.

Sirius shook his head. 'Sorry darling, but I think one's enough for now. Mummy would skin me alive.'

Older Harry prepared himself for an unseemly wobbly, but baby Harry did not seem to mind. He allowed Sirius to spell his hands clean and immediately plunged them into a pile of dirt at the nearest flowerbed, mumbling to himself as he turned the earth.

'Ooo!'

Beaming his delight, the baby emerged from the ground with his fist clenched round a greyish, wriggling mass.

'Sat, Adfoo, sat?' he squeaked excitedly, waving the hand through the air.

Sirius flung himself to the ground alongside the boy and propped his head up with an elbow. He did not seem to mind the filth, though Harry's flailing fist came very close to smearing dirt across his cheek.

'It's a worm, love. Can you say 'worm'?'

Harry frowned down at it. 'Mmmm – errrrm… Erm!'

Sirius smiled indulgently. 'Very good, darling. Ws are hard.'

He neatly rescued the wriggling creature before Harry could stuff it into his mouth. 'Perhaps one more,' he offered instead, spelling the tot's hands clean again and pressing a second sweet into them before he could lament his loss too loudly. 'If you promise not to tell.'

Sirius chose one for himself and laid back upon the ground, cupping his sweet-free hand under his head and looking up at the blustery sky. Little Harry watched him curiously for a moment. Then he too flumped back on the earth, mimicking his godfather's position. Older Harry winced as the pudgy hand of his miniature spread marshmallow through untidy hair in the attempt.

'Ooo!' the baby squealed. He pointed up, where the late afternoon sun was cut and prismed by a golden canopy, rustling in the wind as though a fire blazed above them. 'Sat? Sat!'

Sirius downed the last of his marshmallow and crooked an arm around the baby, pulling him in so Harry's tiny body was tight to his own.

'It's an oak tree, Harry,' he explained patiently. 'And it's a wand tree. You see that?'

He pointed farther down the branches. Both Harrys tracked his gaze to a Y-fork in the gnarled trunk nearly halfway up the tree. It took Harry a moment to realise – a little creature, perhaps half a foot long and seemingly made of bits of plant, was scurrying busily about the tree, digging lightly at the bark with its claws.

'A bowtruckle,' his godfather continued at little Harry's ear. 'It's guarding the oak.'

'Bo… bobo…'

The little creature looked up, then down, catching the babblings of the child. Quick as a wink, its green visage faded to deep brown, and it faded from sight entirely.

'Go?' the baby asked sadly, turning his face to his minder.

Sirius chuckled. 'It hasn't gone anywhere, love. His magic has camouflaged him. You cannot see him anymore, but he guards the oak just the same. It's his job to protect the wand wood; and bowtruckles take their duty very seriously.'

'Too true.'

Sirius rose to an elbow, lifting the baby Harry slightly. Older Harry and Dumbledore turned from the tree as well. James was striding from the house, giving the tree a wary look.

'Nearly gorged my grandfather's eye, one did, last time he ever sent Ollivander a batch.'

Sirius gave a bark of laugher. 'Can't see granddad Harry taking too kindly to that…'

' _Granddad_ Harry?' older Harry repeated in a whisper, raising his eyes to the headmaster.

Albus smiled. 'Your namesake, yes.'

'Stroppy mess he was,' James agreed. 'Granddad and the poor creature.'

He plopped down on the grass beside them, letting Harry scoot over to sit with him. Sirius flipped onto one side. 'Lils come round yet?'

'Talking of stroppy messes…' James muttered darkly.

'Can't really blame her though, can you? After what happened in Aberdeen. Didn't I say you ought to have told her?'

'Whose best mate are you meant – Oi, I don't think so, little man!'

He deftly intercepted his son, who was reaching for the bag of unattended sweets again.

'He's already had two,' Sirius admitted guiltily.

'Have you, my little imp?' Harry giggled as James tickled his sides. 'You're lucky you're so cute. Nobody ever wants to stay cross at you too long.'

'Reckon you can't say the same?' Sirius pressed again.

James gave him a glower. He crouched down so that he and his tiny son were on eye-level. 'Let me clue you up, Harry. Never lie to Mummy. She always knows. And she's usually right.'

Sirius raised a quizzical brow, but the baby merely babbled his agreement, flapping his little hands at his father. James grinned and spun his wand through the air. The backdoor to the house swung open, and a small, plastic broomstick zoomed through. Harry's giggling doubled as it floated down to rest beside them. He immediately pushed himself off the ground and struggled to mount.

'His father's son,' Sirius accused, helping the tot get a leg over. Harry took off at a lazy pace about a foot off the grass, squealing his delight.

James, who had been conjuring some sort of magical barrier that kept the baby in a ring within sight, turned back to smirk. 'He'll be a hell of a Chaser one day.'

'Nah – Seeker, I expect,' Sirius corrected with a laugh. He nodded toward Harry, who had just reached down from his flight and neatly nicked another marshmallow from the packet on the ground.

James snorted. 'Have it then,' he gave up, shaking his head at his son – though he flicked his wand at the remainder and secreted the bag from future conquest. 'Dually earned.'

They watched the triumphant baby for a while in silence, tossing sweets for one another to catch and offering singsong encouragement as Harry flew. James' smile began to fade as the sun sank beneath the oak.

'She'd be mad to go,' he whispered – so quietly that older Harry nearly did not hear. He was not sure James had intended to _be_ heard. But Sirius, who was just helping Harry dismount, looked up with a frown. He scooped the baby off the ground.

'Jamie… you'd be mad to try and stop her.'

He passed Harry over. The baby was now quite bleary-eyed. He tucked his head into the crook of his father's neck. James pressed a kiss to his crown, and rested his chin on the shock of slightly gritty black hair. His grip on the child tightened.

'I just want my family together, and safe,' he muttered. 'Is that really so much inconvenience?'

Sirius' expression was rather peculiar. 'No, mate,' he said quietly after a moment. 'That's the whole point.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The moon was high in the cloudless sky when Albus and Harry alighted on the office floor in the present, sending a punctuated shaft of pale light that caught the Pensieve in its centre. Albus waved his hand to ignite the candles and stoke the dying fire. Fawkes' perch was empty tonight. The circular room seemed cool without his presence. He envied the bird, for whom human lives – even the longest of human lives – were quite ephemeral. His own small part of the phoenix's tale weighed more heavily on his soul each day.

He turned to stow the memory away, giving Harry a moment to collect his thoughts. He anticipated the first question.

'Why were my mum and dad having a row?'

Albus pressed the stopper slowly into the phial by hand. Though he kept his expression benign, it was difficult not to show his irritation at Sirius' choice.

'It was a very long time ago, Harry. And I rather think Sirius' point in sharing this particular recollection was to highlight the amusements in the afternoon, not your parents' conflict.'

'But you know,' Harry needled regardless. 'You were there.'

The headmaster nodded reluctantly. 'There had been some trouble a week or so before, as I am sure you noticed from your father's conversation with Sirius. It set everyone on edge.'

'What sort of trouble?'

Albus hesitated. But the information was not hidden from the history books, should the boy look elsewhere. And Harry was fourteen now. How much longer could he shield all the horrors of the world from one who must face so many?

Unbidden, a voice echoed in his mind.

 _'There will not be enough time, Albus. He_ will _return… before your boy is grown_.'

He sighed. 'As no doubt you will have realised, this recollection comes very near to Lord Voldemort's fall.'

Harry nodded curtly. If he found it strange that Albus framed the time period in terms of the dark wizard, he let the oddity slide.

'It was, as you may also have guessed, perhaps the height of Tom Riddle's power. It was a time when attacks and tragedy were common, despite all our efforts to thwart him.'

'I know,' Harry interrupted. 'Sirius and Remus have told me – a bit.'

Albus inclined his head. 'There was an attack in Aberdeen. A neighbourhood was set upon and nearly destroyed by the time we arrived to intervene – for our information at the time was that Voldemort was plotting an incident in southern Wales. We were caught off our guard. Many people, some of them friends of your parents, did not survive.'

Harry grimaced. 'But that wasn't… That was before,' he clarified, brow furrowed. 'I understand why that would make them upset, but –'

'Your mother was particularly close with one woman who was killed. They had been at Hogwarts together. Minerva received intelligence as to her murderer's whereabouts. We were preparing for a counterstrike.'

Harry nodded slowly. 'And my mum wanted to go.'

'Yes. Minerva felt that your mother ought to be informed, as she and Mary had been close friends. I would have counselled against it… but I did not intercept her in time to curtail the information. Your mother's position, of course, was understandable. Grief is never easy. And there is no grief more difficult to bear than that which we are forced to endure without action.'

Harry looked indignant. 'Why without action? Why couldn't she go – if it was her friend who'd died? Of course she'd want to!'

'Your family was already living in hiding at that time, as were many members of the Order,' Albus explained patiently. 'They had been so since before your birth. As the war wore on, it became increasingly dangerous to stray from the safety of Godric's Hollow. Ultimately, as of course you know, James and Lily opted to invoke the Fidelius Charm.'

'And a lot of good _that_ did,' Harry spat furiously.

'Even before that point,' Albus continued, 'Excursions from the house were not advisable. Your parents' involvement in the active war became less frequent as Voldemort gained power. Their safety – and your own – was not worth the risk.'

'But you said lots of the Order were in hiding,' Harry pointed out. 'And they can't _all_ have been sat at home every time the fighting broke out. I don't blame Mum for wanting to join up. If something happened to one of _my_ mates…'

'Your mother bears no blame for her feelings,' Albus agreed. 'But neither does your father.'

'I didn't say that,' Harry muttered, though his face coloured. 'But I still don't get it. _Someone_ had to go, didn't they? Why not Mum? Why did _you_ not want her to?'

'Because although Voldemort was targeting many members of the Order of the Phoenix, the danger to your family was paramount. It was a risk I did not consider prudent.'

'So _you_ got to decide who stays and who goes? Who you can afford to… to lose, or…'

Albus' eyes grew suddenly heavy. 'It is not so simple, Harry. You have not yet lived through the trials of war. You do not yet know the weight of such decisions. I pray you never shall. The stakes in such times are impossible to describe, and choices just as terrible to make. Lives are not expendable. People are not disposable. But there are certain times and certain occasions when calculated risks must be faced.'

The voice whispered in his head again. _'The sacrifices you have to make…'_

'For the greater good,' Harry finished aloud.

He could not know, of course, why the words cut so deeply. But Albus heard the voices blend, and ice encased his heart. He swallowed. 'Yes,' he agreed – his voice almost imperceptible around the sudden freeze. 'One day, I fear, you may come to understand.'

Harry's eyes narrowed again. 'So why?' he pressed on. 'Why was he after them, particularly? Why _us_?'

They stared at each other across the long desk. The Pensieve between them was barren; its task completed. Yet the Runic markings around its edges seemed to glow ever so slightly all the same in their sliver of moonlight. Albus stared into the depths of the emerald eyes – searching his own soul as he contemplated Harry's.

 _Two souls…_ the voice reminded him. The same infuriating, intoxicating voice… though he was not sure his dark mirror had ever uttered the words aloud.

Two souls.

And he could not. Not while the information could not be shrouded.

'Not yet, Harry,' he said, very quietly. 'Not yet.'

'When?' Harry demanded.

'Soon,' Albus promised, wishing the thought did not send his own heart pounding. 'Soon, you will be ready.'

'You're always saying that,' Harry grumbled. 'But 'soon' never seems to come.'

'Are you in such a rush to live your life?' Albus asked, trying for levity he did not feel. 'You will know what you must, Harry. When you are ready for the knowledge.'

'That's easy for you to say. You're the wisest man alive.'

The voice cackled in his psyche; echoing through the weight of years more wrought with pain than this child could know. The headmaster sighed.

'Do not be in such a hurry for wisdom, Harry. It is not something a man is born with, and it is not a gift to be imparted. It cannot be granted, and it cannot often be learned. Wisdom is _earned_. And it is usually earned in the most terrible, cruel manner. We venerate wise men because we attribute to them the abilities to counsel the rest. The truth is that wise men have such knowledge because they have lived long enough to witness too many mistakes; to see too many paths untaken. That is the source of our wisdom. Heartbreak, tragedy and time.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a dank, dark, disgusting hovel of a shipyard. He might have thought it abandoned, had they not had to charm the handful of workers away. The skeletal hull of their latest labours loomed central in the carpentry hall. The three-storey high walls and ceiling were hung with great sails gone tatty – perhaps for darning; perhaps merely in nostalgia. Even Muggles, he knew, had long since conquered the need to travel on wind alone. The floor – where he now reposed on a heap of shabby robes – was filthy: a myriad of fag-ends, empty chip wrappers and rolling bottles. The entire place stank of sweat, stale ale and poverty.

That he had been reduced to suffer such degrading accommodations…

Well. He wished he might have at least been free to kill their hosts in recompense.

A fat black rat scuttled across a half-finished prow, its silhouette magnified by one of the lazily rustling sails that caught the shadow in the moonlight. It paused on the ledge – ears perked and eyes flashing. Clearly it had spotted its companions.

Nagini would have handled it, of course. Vermin did not dare enter their cave in Albania. But the great snake was coiled around the foulest of them all, fulfilling her duty to her master.

'No interest in joining your fellows, Wormtail?'

Pettigrew gave a muffled squeak, nearly upending the precious phial. Nagini hissed her displeasure.

'Patience, patience, my sweet…' he crooned in Parseltongue. 'The journey is not yet over.'

Pettigrew was staring at the place the rat had vanished. His expression was almost wistful. 'My lord, perhaps I ought to bring him to you here. He could assist you in getting through the countryside, and I – I could –'

Lord Voldemort cocked his head. 'And what is this? Do you tire of my company already, Wormtail? Dear me, and I had thought we were growing so… close…'

Wormtail gulped. 'I – no, of course not, my lord. I only meant… now that we know there's another –'

'Another chained and bound,' Lord Voldemort corrected. 'Another who is as yet unable to aid me.'

'But – but he shan't be for long, my lord,' the rat hurried on. 'And once we have found him… He is so much more knowledgeable than I, my lord; so much more talented. Surely he would be more useful –'

'And undoubtedly he shall be,' Voldemort interrupted. 'You know of my plans for him, Wormtail. But it shall be weeks yet before those plans might be enacted. And even then, his servitude in no way absolves you from your duty. Unless, perhaps, you no longer wish to fulfil that duty… Unless, perhaps, you grow disenchanted with your lot…'

'No! No, my lord, of course I – never!' Pettigrew cried out. Perspiration began to bead across his brow. 'I – I only meant I could be of more use – to _you_ – if I were to go back out in the world. I could spy. I could –'

'But I have no need of a spy, Wormtail,' the Dark Lord interjected again. 'For the moment, I have all the information I could desire. Your presence in the Wizarding World away from my side would be nothing but a liability. And you must know, by now, that I do not abide liabilities well.'

The sweat began to dribble down his temples. 'I – I could bring the boy, my lord. I could bring you Harry Potter.'

Lord Voldemort laughed. Wormtail shivered.

'Bring me Harry Potter?' he repeated derisively. 'Hardly, Wormtail. You have already failed in that attempt – feeble as it was, with three years of undetected opportunity. You propose to succeed now, when Dumbledore and all his sycophants shall know what you really are? When the boy is tucked safely in his castle and all but glued to his side? You fool.'

'But, my lord, you have already said you wish for the boy to –'

'Harry Potter will come at the end,' the Dark Lord hissed. 'I have been patient thirteen years… I can wait just a short while longer. I know now what I did not before. And this time, there will be no mistakes. My trusted servant shall secure the boy. And you, Wormtail, shall secure the rest.'

'I can, my lord, but surely you need –'

'What I have need of is someone to milk Nagini. Someone to attend to the complex process that will complete my resurrection. What I need is a faithful servant. Are _you_ a faithful servant, Wormtail?'

The short man's breath came faster and faster as he spoke. He was a mouth-breather. Voldemort wrinkled his nose in disgust.

'Of course, my lord. I am your most faithful –'

A bottle clinked against another. Both men broke off their conversation, turning to stare into the billows of sails. Lord Voldemort sensed no human presence. Another rat, most likely… though he did not trust that Pettigrew's charms would hold their power indefinitely.

'Enough,' he said aloud. 'Bring me the potion, and then I must rest. We move again on the morrow. It would be foolish to linger in one place overlong. Not until we reach our destination.'

Pettigrew came forward with the concoction of venom to feed his master, and the great snake slithered off into the darkness – free at last to hunt her own sustenance for the night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry supposed, in retrospect, it was the tense conversation that had distracted him. He always had more trouble with Occlumency when his mind was cluttered at bedtime, and feelings of hurt or anger, it seemed, fed the nightmares most of all.

He woke with a gasp, clutching at the searing pain in his forehead. Albus was already there. Harry could feel him, though he had shut his eyes instantly once more.

'Breathe, Harry,' the headmaster instructed quietly, laying one hand on his back and the other against his cheek. 'Just breathe.'

Harry did. 'How did you know?' he forced out through gritted teeth.

'I heard you cry out.'

'I'm sorry –'

'I was not asleep,' Albus assured him.

He felt a phial against his lips and did not bother to protest. A second followed. Slowly, the pain began to recede. Harry opened his eyes. Albus' were fixed on his, and Harry recoiled automatically.

The headmaster shook his head. 'I would not perform Legilimency on you after such a dream, my dear child.'

Harry gave a wry grin. 'Sorry,' he muttered. 'Reflex, I suppose.'

Albus did not reply. He tested Harry's cheeks and forehead with the back of his hand, careful to avoid the inflamed scar. 'You are not as warm as you have been before. That, I think, is progress. How do you feel?'

Harry shrugged. 'It's almost gone – the pain in my scar,' he decided. 'But…'

'You are feeling sick to your stomach?'

But Harry shook his head. 'No, not really. Not anymore, now my headache is going away. But the dream was… odd. I remember pieces, but…' He kneaded his forehead out of habit. 'Why? Why couldn't I remember at all the last time; and then others are totally clear. And then sometimes it's like this – and I only have snippets? It's just so… frustrating.'

Albus sighed. 'I cannot pretend I share in your displeasure. If you are recalling less of the dream, it stands to reason your efforts in Occlumency are beginning to succeed.'

'I didn't do it much, tonight,' Harry admitted.

'Quite understandable,' said Albus with a small smile. 'When one's mind is particularly teeming with excess thought and emotion, such lapses are not unusual. I must stress, however, that I wish you to work at Occlumency _every_ night – even when your thoughts are in hopeless disarray. Only then will you be able to master the art. If there are instances where you find it is truly beyond your ability to do so, we must consider Dreamless Sleep on such occasions.'

Harry nodded, a bit embarrassed. Hedwig, who had dropped onto the sill of the open window for a late-night visit, gave a small hoot around the frog in her beak.

Albus patted his shoulder. 'As tonight is, shall we say, rather a lost cause already, why don't you tell me what you remember of the vision?'

'It was foggy again,' Harry recalled, taking the glass of water the headmaster offered with a short nod of thanks. 'I couldn't see everything. But there were boats, I think.'

'Lord Voldemort was at sea once more?'

Harry shook his head. 'Not _at_ sea, no. But he can't have been far from the water. He and Pettigrew were in some type of shipyard, I think. The boats were on land.'

Dumbledore nodded, stroking pensively at his beard. 'And were there others with them?'

'I… don't think so. But I can't be sure,' Harry admitted. 'I remember him – Voldemort – saying they couldn't stay there long.'

'Do you remember anything else of their conversation?'

Harry kneaded harder, trying to think. The pain in his head was rising again. Dumbledore pulled his hand away.

'You will irritate it further,' he chastised lightly, looking him over. 'Perhaps we should leave it here for tonight.'

'No – I'm fine,' said Harry quickly. 'I just don't –'

But it came back to him in a terrible flash; and he could have kicked himself for failing to remember before.

'There's someone else!' he cried, far too loudly for the short distance between them. 'Voldemort said there was another servant, he called him his most trusted servant.'

'In the room with him?' Dumbledore asked at a much calmer level.

'No – not there. He said the servant was… was chained, or something. Chained and bound, I think. But he was going to get him anyway. Maybe one of the Death Eaters? Someone in Azkaban?'

Dumbledore looked thoughtful again. 'Perhaps. Though to attempt a breakout from Azkaban would certainly arouse suspicion – something Voldemort appears to be going to great lengths to avoid.'

'But what else could he mean – chained and bound?'

Albus shook his head. 'As to that, I have no idea. Perhaps he spoke only metaphorically.'

'And the snake, Nagini, she –'

Dumbledore visibly started. Harry broke off, watching him warily. 'What is it?'

The headmaster's shoulders were utterly stiff. 'What did you call it, Harry?' he demanded sharply. 'The snake?'

Harry gave him an odd look. 'Nagini?' he repeated, somewhat uncertainly. 'That's her name, I think. Why?'

Albus ignored the question. 'Nagini…' he repeated, quieter than before. 'And why do you call her as such?'

Harry frowned. 'That's what he calls her. Voldemort, I mean.'

Dumbledore pressed his fingers together, his gaze far away. 'Does he indeed…'

But Harry was fairly certain it was not meant as a query. 'Why? Is that important?'

The headmaster's expression relaxed. 'It is interesting,' he said in a much lighter tone. 'But I digress. You were speaking of the snake's actions in the vision.'

Harry took the water again, frowning at the headmaster over the rim of the glass. 'She was… feeding him, somehow. Wormtail made a potion with her venom. He gave it to Voldemort.'

Albus nodded again. That steely, slightly unnerving gleam had not yet gone from his eyes. Rather suddenly, he pushed off from the bed and spelled the quilt back into place. When he smiled, his expression was serene as ever.

'You should get some sleep,' he advised, handing over a phial of familiar potion. 'And try not to dwell on the darkness. There is nothing that can be done for it tonight.'

He blew the candle out with a flick of his wand, brushed his hand once over the top of Harry's head, and quit the room. Harry watched him go, still scowling – not least because it was very unlike the headmaster not to hover until he had actually swallowed the Dreamless Sleep. He looked over to the window, where the owl had settled in on the sill, happily devouring her frog feast and watching Harry through amber eyes. She gave another muffled hoot.

He sighed and unstopped the phial. 'It's been a very, _very_ strange night, Hedwig.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Albus did not even descend to the hearth in the office to call. When Severus' face appeared in the flames, he looked rather startled to find the headmaster in his bedchamber.

'Come through, please,' Albus requested before the Potions Master could speak.

Severus obliged in equal silence, alighting on the carpet in a whirl of black and visibly uncomfortable. 'Headmaster?'

'I must step out for an hour or two. I shall need you to remain in the tower in case Harry should awaken.'

'And why can Minerva not mind him?'

'Because I am asking _you_ , Severus,' Albus answered, with just a hint of impatience. 'But you should not have any trouble. He has taken Dreamless Sleep.'

'Dreamless Sleep?' the Potions Master echoed. He crossed his arms. 'Another vision of the Dark Lord, Albus?'

The headmaster strode to his great wardrobe. 'So it would seem,' he agreed, flicking through for a travelling cloak. 'Check in on him every so often, please. He is not so fevered this time and thus I would prefer if he were not awakened until morning, but dose him if you must.'

He found his quarry and snapped the door shut. He shook the wrinkles from the fabric while Severus glowered. 'Albus, this path grows ever more dangerous. If the boy cannot master Occlumency before the Dark Lord regains his power –'

'I need no additional reminder of the dangers in parallel trains,' Albus assured him. 'Harry is doing his best. As are we all.'

He swung the cloak about his shoulders and gave the professor a sharp look. 'And I trust _you_ shall need no additional reminder of our previous discussion on the matter of these visions?'

'No, headmaster.'

Albus nodded. 'Thank you. You need not remain up here, I should think. The study ought to do. I left a rather wonderful novel on the tea table, should you find yourself –'

'I shall respect your concerns on Legilimising the boy,' Severus interrupted. 'But what could Potter have seen, Albus, that would cause you to run off into the night?'

He hesitated. 'There was nothing in what Harry recalled from the vision to give me any greater cause for concern that Voldemort's return is imminent,' he answered carefully. 'Nor anything of particular new interest. It merely served to remind me of a call I must pay tonight.'

'Who –'

'We shall speak on my return, Severus. There is much we must discuss.'

For a moment, he thought Severus would argue. He was certain the man's nostrils flared in irritation; fingers tightened on opposite elbows. But in the end, he gave naught but a stiff nod, and turned to sweep for the spiral staircase. Albus fastened the clasp of his travelling cloak and dipped his hand into the tin on the mantel. He would not suffer the delay of a walk tonight.

'One more thing, Severus.'

The Potions Master paused at the doorway. A fine stream of powder escaped between the headmaster's fingers, sending thin vapours of green into the room between them. Severus glared at the smoke as though it would do him personal harm. His eyebrows drew closer together.

'If Minerva should happen to call in the night, you are to tell her I have gone to speak to Aberforth and shall return in the morning.'

Severus stared. 'And if we should have need of you here in the night, Albus?' he asked quietly. 'Shall I find you in that cesspool, should I have need to look?'

Albus held the gaze unrelentingly. 'I am confident you can handle a few hours on your own. But if dire circumstances should arise… you would do better to send a Patronus.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The hour was nearing two o'clock, but Nurmengard was awake. Candles burned in the highest tower, mocking as they danced him up the overgrown path. He darted quickly through the crumbling hall, playing the night over and over in his mind as he climbed the endless steps. It was as though this day, this night, this place – and, most especially, this man – added stone upon stone to his back. Until he was sure he would fall and never rise again.

He wondered, morbidly, if he would ever grow used to the sound of Harry screaming himself awake; to the livid, pulsing reminder that the child's life could never be his own whilst Voldemort lived. And yet so long as the child had life, so too would Tom Riddle.

Two souls, and one. In essence divided; inextricably united.

But Harry was not the only one to breathe for two lives. And she – she changed everything. All was equal, and yet suddenly, horribly altered.

 _How_ could it be? It could not. Yet it was far too coincidental to be an accident of the universe… and the universe, bless her, made little in the way of accident.

Perhaps these mounting horrors were nothing but the abyss. Perhaps he had fallen after all.

He pushed the door ajar without knocking. But Gellert was not alone.

'Sir?'

'Mr Weasley,' he greeted with a tip of his hat, swallowing his surprise. 'My – but you are here quite late this evening.'

Bill looked at his wristwatch. One eyebrow shot up. 'Blimey – I didn't realise the time. It's lucky I'm off tomorrow. Apologies, headmaster. I didn't know you were coming. We were just completing some additional research…'

Albus ran his gaze down the length of the table. There were indeed several monstrous tomes spread open, their pages marked with ribbon and bits of scribbled-on parchment. Bill had a two-foot roll of copious notes laid out before him and a quill in hand. The table, however, also held the remains of what appeared to be roast dinner, two glasses and a half-empty bottle of sauvignon blanc.

Albus gave a benign smile – feeling every bit the mummer's sage.

'On the contrary, Bill. It is I who must apologise for the interruption. And I must further beg forgiveness, I fear. For I have a need for privacy tonight.'

Bill did not show the slightest hint of surprise. His eyes flicked for one moment toward Grindelwald's face, before he nodded at the headmaster. 'Of course, sir. I'd be glad to get to bed. I'll come back some night mid-week… unless you need me later this evening?'

Albus smiled. 'Thank you, but –'

'Mid-week shall be fine,' Gellert interrupted.

Bill rolled his eyes. 'Headmaster – I'll be in touch. Best of luck tonight.'

They nodded briefly to one another, and Bill Weasley quit the room. Albus turned his eyes to the remaining wizard.

Gellert was smirking. He snapped his fingers, and Lakai appeared in the room.

'Another glass for our guest.'

Lakai glared at the address. But he conjured another goblet, giving Albus a bow as he disappeared with the soiled plates.

'Sit, Albus,' Gellert invited, pouring out a measure of the wine.

The headmaster took neither the chair nor the drink. 'What are you doing with him, Gellert? I have told you before not to meddle with Bill Weasley.'

Gellert looked politely incredulous. 'Since when has courtesy drawn the label of meddling, Albus? Or would you have the boy starve whilst he toils on your orders?'

'This scene has the feel of commonplace, Gellert,' Albus observed. 'The man is not a tool for you to sharpen, nor a toy for your flights of fancy.'

Grindelwald laughed. 'Always you ascribe to me such machinations, my friend. But what harm can come from a glass of wine and an evening of books and parchment?'

'Your memory deserts you, if you require my answer.'

Gellert took a long sip from his goblet and floated its brother toward his companion. 'Your own servant furnished the bottle,' he pointed out instead. 'I dare say its contents might be trusted. Sit, Albus. Have a drink. And perhaps you might yet come to explain your sudden arrival. For I very much doubt you journeyed so far and so late merely to check on my well-being.'

Albus took the floating goblet. But he did not sit. 'Your machinations, Gellert, are precisely why I have come.'

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. 'I have kept to my promise and your threat, my friend. I have had no contact with –'

'I speak of your _past_ machinations, Grindelwald. Schemes many decades in the making.'

The other wizard gave a soft smile again, settling deeper into his high-backed chair. 'Then we both know you shall need to be a touch more specific, Albus. It has been a storied career, after all…'

Albus took the chair opposite. He pushed the wine away.

'Harry has had another dream. They have happened on several occasions this summer.'

Grindelwald touched his fingers together. 'Intriguing… and dangerous, Albus. That connection will not remain one-sided, as I am sure you know. You shall have to decide how best to manage it. Or utilise it, as the case may be. Still, I fail to see how _my_ endeavours might factor in the boy's visions.'

'Voldemort's snake has played a significant part in several of the scenes,' Albus went on, watching Gellert closely. 'The snake he has created a Horcrux.'

Gellert shrugged irritably. 'A foolish choice,' he dismissed. 'To create a Horcrux from a living being… I ask you – what is the point of ensuring immortality by linking your life to a mortal creature? It does seem rather incongruous with his ultimate –'

'Harry informed me tonight that the snake has a name,' Albus interrupted. 'Tom Riddle calls her 'Nagini'.'

Gellert froze on the precipice of speech. For a moment, the attitude was comical. Then his lips curled into a smirk and his violet eyes flashed.

'Does he now?' he asked, drumming dirty fingernails on the arm of his chair. He took up his goblet again, toasting Albus briefly before draining it. 'So, _my_ machinations are not the only shadows of our past to rear a head tonight. Will you tell your boy, Albus? Will she?'

The headmaster did not answer. But Gellert had not expected it. He refilled their wine with a wave of his hand, and lifted the bottle to examine the dregs.

'We'll be needing another,' he muttered, setting it down. He nodded his head at Albus. 'And so… the balance shifts. How _very_ interesting…'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Twenty-One**

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for reviewing! Very glad you liked Chapter 21. And you are certainly right – Remus _is_ a voice of reason and a bit of a stabilising force in Severus' life, whether the Potions Master sees it or not. He's rather a stabilising force in general, actually… we shall see if Severus takes it to heart. In any event, I hope you'll like Chapter 22!

 **Master of Energy** : Thanks for your review! I'm very happy to hear your enthusiasm for the story has not faded with the intervening weeks :). Ah, not much 'happens' in terms of actual events in Chapter 21 – much more focused on conversation. I'm glad to hear you found it interesting all the same. Initially, the chapter actually included several scenes that I cut and either moved into Chapter 22 or else pocketed away for later… making Chapter 21 shorter than my usual and a bit more character-centric than moving the timeline along. In the end, however, I felt that to put anything after Snape and Lupin's final conversation would be to diminish the impact of their moment. Chapter 22, incidentally, is much longer.

Always happy to answer questions, and I thank you for posting them! Interacting with the readers is a great joy and one of the reasons I love posting on this site. Thank you for the well wishes; I am much better now. As to your follow-up query – yes, it is certainly why, or at least part of the reason why, Albus considers magic rooted in love to be the most powerful of all. There is a scene in the earlier portion of Part II where Albus asks Harry 'do you trust everyone you love?' When Harry hesitates, Albus knowingly observes that love, trust and hate are sometimes surprisingly hard to distinguish in our own selves, and can become intertwined. All three, he points out, are 'powerful emotions… powerful magics'. It is a theme that shall reappear throughout this series. And yes, I think he would argue – and I would agree – that love has more intent than anything else out there.

I hope you like Chapter 22!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Ah… yes, many emotions in that last one :). And in this chapter, I suspect. I hope you enjoyed it and will like Chapter 22!

 **Bryanjames** : Thank you for reviewing! It's wonderful to hear how much you enjoyed Chapter 21. Severus and Remus' discussion was a moment I have been looking forward to telling for quite some time, so it's lovely to learn that it was entertaining for the readers as well. I am also very glad that you approve of his characterisation – as keeping the characters _in_ character, even when their actions might necessarily change with the alterations to and expansion of the greater story, is very important to me. I shan't say that Snape shall never soften towards Harry – indeed, I think in his own way he has come quite a bit farther than he might have (or did, I suppose) in a universe where Harry is not living at the castle and studying so often with him – but it shall be a 'slow burn' in that regard, as they say. I am glad his reasoning in this scene came across as sound. Indeed, I very much hope that readers felt both Snape and Lupin made salient points, though they obviously have different motivations and concerns. I find writing intense conversations most interesting when the sensical argument is not entirely one-sided.

Very glad you enjoyed the bit with Neville as well. Poor Neville – I feel he often gets a bit shafted. In some respects, I think my Harry has grown a bit more emotionally mature than perhaps he was in canon at this age (product, mainly, of Albus and the relationships he has at the castle in COH, I think), so he sees Neville in a different sort of light than he might have done at this stage in the original work. We should see more development of that friendship as things move forward as well.

I do hope you enjoy Chapter 22!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! Very glad you are still reading and enjoying the book so much. I hope you'll like the next chapter!

 **Guest** : Thank you for your review! I am very flattered by your comments and enjoyment of the story, and I do hope you like Chapter 22!

 **Lordban** : Thank you for your review! I'm very happy you liked the last chapter, and I hope you'll enjoy Chapter 22!

 **Annagardner11** : Thank you so much for the review! It's very touching to hear you like this version of the tale so much, and I hope you'll find Chapter 22 a good instalment!

 **Ryuku-sama** (Chapter 5): Thank you for the review! I am very happy you've enjoyed the stories so much, and it is always wonderful to see comments from new reviewers – so thank you for sharing! It's lovely to hear you've enjoyed the characterisations. As to the French – it is, as I think I've said, not my first language. We lived in France for a time while I was small, and I am 'proficient' but certainly not fluent. Reading and speaking French is much easier for me than writing it. A few French readers have commented and assisted with translation, and I certainly appreciate your assistance as well. I do intend to make the French dialogue more natural when I have a chance to edit this book, so I will definitely make use of some of your helpful suggestions. I'm not sure how much French may appear in future, but if so I may indeed take up your offer to Beta, and thank you for it! I hope you've continued with the story, and if so I very much hope you'll enjoy Chapter 22!

 **MoonshineMadame** : Thank you for reviewing! I am very glad you enjoyed Chapter 21 so much. The scene with Harry and Neville was one of my favourites too, and you're right – their friendship is quite different from his relationship with Ron or Hermione, in large part because they find commonality in different ways. We will definitely see more of it later in the story. And Remus and Severus' confrontation was certainly something we've been building towards…. Poor Remus – he intends to be helpful, but Snape is not the easiest man for such intentions. I'm glad you've enjoyed their chat. And I do hope you'll like Chapter 22!

 **Guest Reviews** : I'm not sure if they are all from the same or different reviewers, but thank you so much for your support and wonderful comments! I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter!

 **Suspiciouspencil** : Thank you for your review and comments! Also, I must say I adore your pen name. :) Apologies for the delay in updating, but I do hope you'll enjoy Chapter 22!


	23. Against the Feather

**A/N:** Thank you to those who reviewed Chapter 22! Always so lovely to hear from you. I do hope you'll all enjoy 'Against the Feather'. The next chapter – 'The Cave of Merlin' will hopefully be up in shorter order than the past few. I'd love to get one more chapter up before the new _Fantastic Beasts_ film premieres.

As always…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

 **Against the Feather**

He never should have given it away.

Look what he had already done, without her strength to calm him. He had let his emotions rein as he had not in years. And he had spoken to the _wolf_ , of all people. By now his mutt probably knew as well.

Or perhaps not. After all, surely Black would have barged through the door the moment he learnt the truth. If he knew that Severus had handed his precious Potter to the Dark Lord…

But it mattered not. Perhaps fear for the mutt's rash tendencies, or even lingering pity, had stayed Lupin's tongue. But still… _he_ knew. Severus had said that which could not be called back.

He would need to inform Albus. Although, knowing the old man, he was probably wise already. Or guessed, at the very least. Albus may not even mind. He never did see the danger in Lupin, or any of the saintly Gryffindor bootlickers, for that matter. In fact, Severus would not have been surprised to find the wolf's incessant attempts to form some type of _friendship_ had been encouraged – even spawned – by the headmaster himself. It was precisely the sort of nonsense Albus would champion.

But it mattered not. That was ashes now.

Perhaps, at least, Lupin's infuriating ingratiation would subside. Perhaps Severus would finally be left alone and in peace. Well – peace… unlikely. Peace had eluded him for decades. Peace had fled after her into the darkness of that seventh-floor corridor; been vanquished at the bedside of her squalling child.

Alone, however, he could always count on. Alone would be enough for now.

He should _never_ have given it away.

The boy…

It all came back to him. And her. And _him_.

Harry Potter. Lily's last legacy and her husband's miniature. Severus had always known those waters would muddy, the older the boy grew. He had known it from that darkest hour in the headmaster's study – sat in the tower that had been both refuge and cell; salvation and tomb. He had known it from the moment he had agreed to forfeit the tatters that remained of his life in perpetual penance for hers.

But to know the path and to walk it were far from the same. And Severus was learning, to his disgust, that he was not as sure-footed as he had thought. Fate and covenant brought he and Potter in more regular interaction than he was comfortable with. He resented the boy for his father's face; for the reckless abandon with which he led his life; and – in his deepest, least rational lows – for breathing, while she did not. Yet he could see the faintest glimpses of her. In the boy's eyes, of course; in his hot temper… and, on occasion, in his wandless spellwork.

Most of all, he resented that he could not look upon the child without seeing the both of them. Everything he had had – and lost. Everything taken from him. Everything taken from the boy, _because_ of him.

His soul had been weighed against the feather and found wanton.

Now his atonement stood in the centre of the classroom, her chain glinting on his neck. Another talisman forever set out of reach through his own design.

He should never have given it away.

'Did you see that?!' the boy panted in excitement. He wiped sweaty hair back from his face with a shaking hand, grinning as he turned. 'That was good, right?'

'Satisfactory, yes,' Severus drawled in a bored voice. He flicked his own wand, setting the cushions Potter had been banishing back to the floor before him. 'Now do it again.'

Potter rolled his eyes but retook his position, focusing on the cushion with his right hand outstretched. Severus sized him up.

Against all odds, the boy was improving. His skill with levitating and commanding objects was far from mastery, but it had become more than passable. He could summon wandlessly with little effort now. He still struggled with the nonverbal variants of both but that, Severus knew, would come with age, experience, and a better grasp of his wandering mind than the boy currently possessed. Today's banishing attempt would complete this rudimentary lesson arc that had been Severus' summer scheme for Potter.

He had anticipated temper and tantrums – for this spell had not yet been a focus of Potter's Charms work with Filius or Minerva, and Severus well remembered their stalemate with the Summoning Charm after a similar introduction. But Potter, it seemed, had at long last managed to recognise that the crutch of wandwork could be just that.

If only he had shown equal promises in other areas of magic.

The final cushion went sailing past, Potter whooping in undignified triumph as it hit the target on the opposite end of the room. Severus nodded curtly and vanished the pile himself.

'Sit,' he commanded, drawing a chair forward with his hand.

The boy sank into it, looking far too happy even as he fought for breath. Severus set the usual potions in front of him and perched against the desk opposite, crossing his arms.

Potter frowned at him. 'You're not pleased,' he observed as he tossed the empty phial toward the basin in the corner. 'Why not, sir? I did everything you –'

'Do not throw glass in my classroom,' Severus hissed.

He shrugged. 'There's a cushioning charm on that basin. Why are you really cross at me? This lesson was loads better than –'

'My emotions are rarely worn in my expression, Potter. Shocking as it may be, your efforts in today's lesson were better than expected. Perhaps you have chosen to abandon mediocrity at long last.'

The boy scowled. 'You couldn't have just said 'well done', could you?'

'You do not deserve a trophy for exercising the gifts you were born with to the potential they should reach,' Severus disagreed. 'Meeting expectations is not a feat worthy of applause. Be that as it may, I am pleased, Potter.'

'Then why are you looking at me like –'

'My emotions are rarely worn in my expression,' Severus repeated.

Potter raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Severus did not need mind magic to read the boy's vehement disagreement.

'Unless,' he went on with a glower, 'I choose for them to be so. A quality you should attempt to hone yourself. And it is on this point that I wish to speak to you.'

Potter stared, but did not interrupt.

'Occlumency.'

The frown deepened. 'I don't want to talk about it,' he growled through gritted teeth. 'I don't want to relive that night again –'

'Nor do I. But that is not my intention. You have a connection into the Dark Lord's mind.'

'I know –'

'It is imperative that this connection cease at once, and most especially before the Dark Lord should rise again,' he continued, speaking over the boy. 'You do not yet realise the danger.'

'Of course I do!' Potter snarled. 'You think I _like_ what it does to me every time I –'

'I did not say that you did. But nor do I think you fully comprehend the peril that grows with each of these visions.'

' _You_ were the one trying to get Albus to let you see them!' Potter countered hotly.

'My tolerance for your tone wears thin,' Severus warned. 'And that is a collateral point. The headmaster has made his position on the subject known. He is correct to do so,' he added, forcing down the bile at the admission. 'And neither does it change, Potter, that it is the _occurrence_ of these visions which presents the greater threat. Probability suggests the connection will prove bilateral.'

He rolled his eyes at the boy's blank face. 'It is likely to work in both directions,' he clarified. 'You may not attract his notice while the Dark Lord remains weakened. But if he should rise again, and discover the access to his mind that you have enjoyed these months…'

'Albus said,' Potter cut in. 'That's why we started the Occlumency lessons up again. In case he tries to… er, Legilimise me, if he can.'

Severus crossed his arms. 'That you can speak so cavalier of the prospect, Potter, only proves my point. Should the Dark Lord return to full strength, there will be no 'if' about it. He _will_ discover the connection's existence. The only determinable will be _when_ he chooses to strike. You have never experienced the Dark Lord's powers of Legilimency. Had you had the pleasure –'

'It's not like I don't know what it's like to have my mind attacked!' Potter interrupted again. 'I've had _you_ do it, haven't I? More than once. And Albus does it over and over when we practise.'

'Both efforts by wizards from whom you were expecting it. And more importantly,' Severus went on, over every sign of impending protest, 'From those attempting merely to penetrate your mind for information.'

'As opposed to what, sir?' Potter challenged with an insolent eyeroll of his own.

Severus glowered. 'Legilimency is not a mere parlour trick, Potter. Delving the depths of another's thoughts is dangerous in and of itself. It allows the assailant access to your dearest desires, most painful memories, even the essence of your psyche. Information gives one power, and with it the ability to destroy. The Dark Lord is among the greatest Legilimens to ever grace this earth. And he is well versed in using the minds of his victims to bring about destruction. If what the headmaster believes holds true, _you_ are an easier victim than most.'

'I'm not _that_ hope–'

'Because he will be able to penetrate your mind from afar,' Severus finished.

Potter frowned at him. 'I still don't see how that's not exactly what I'm learning with –'

'But it is not only sieving through the stream of conscious and unconscious thought at which the Dark Lord excels,' the professor continued. 'No… For you see, Potter, Legilimency is not mere illusion. It is a tangible, physical invasion of the mind. And minds, just as bodies, can be altered. They can be broken. The Dark Lord is adept at both.'

Potter went slightly green. He swallowed hard. Severus let him mull it over in silence. When the boy spoke at last, however, it was not to ask the stupid question.

Another welcome surprise.

'How is someone meant to prepare for that?'

Severus stared him down. 'You cannot. Not entirely. But you can work, ceaselessly, on mastering _true_ Occlumency, Potter – rather than the shell you have thus far dabbled with. And you must learn to repel attacks of _all_ varieties. You have never known the Dark Lord at full strength. Pray that you never shall, but do not count on it. Do not wait for the enemy's attack – anticipate it. Prepare for the contingencies, and you can never be surprised.'

'I'm already practising every night.'

'It is not enough. Occlumency is not a practice, it is a lifestyle. For those who were not born with an unusual talent, there are no shortcuts. You must work to actively engage your shields every day, all day, until it is as natural and unconscious as breathing. Discipline your mind. _Learn_ to defend it.'

The boy bit his lip slightly. But he gave a slow nod.

'Forgive the interruption.'

Potter jumped. Even Severus slipped slightly. He clenched his fingers over the rim of the desk to stop the unseemly falter.

Turning with more composure, he saw Albus' face in the flames. Even through the fiery medium, Severus could have sworn he saw amusement in his eyes. He tried to gauge how long the headmaster had been privy to the scene in the dungeon… but Albus' face betrayed no hint.

'I had not meant to startle you,' he apologised. 'Nor am I keen to curtail a lesson. But I fear we shall be late to the village if we tarry much longer, Harry. Though I am loath to deny my brother the pleasure of scolding me…'

'Sorry,' Potter said, already reaching for his bag.

But Severus raised a hand. 'One moment, Potter. I am not quite through.' He turned to face the hearth again. 'Could you allow us two minutes, please, headmaster?'

Albus' eyes flicked between them briefly. He gave a small smile. 'I shall meet you in the entrance hall,' he said to the boy. And he vanished with the shifting logs.

Severus flung a quick charm at the embers, though he knew the headmaster would not reappear. Potter – frozen in almost comical attitude with his satchel half-raised – frowned his bemusement when the professor turned.

Severus took a moment before he spoke.

'Albus Dumbledore may be the most powerful wizard of our time,' he said carefully. 'Perhaps one of the greatest to ever live. But he is not invincible. He has one great weakness, Potter. And should the day come when he shows that weakness… you may tell me.'

'Tell you?' Potter repeated in confusion. 'Why?'

'Because I shall remedy it,' he said simply.

The boy gaped at him. 'What… what weakness are you talking about, sir?'

'You shall know, should it become a problem,' he deflected.

'But how would you –'

'As for your wandless lessons, we shall continue to work on Tuesday evenings this term. _Every_ Tuesday, Potter. Eight o'clock.'

Potter ground his teeth, looking torn between muddled and indignant. After a moment, however, he seemed to recognise the dismissal.

'Fine,' he agreed, with only a hint of resentment. 'See you at the feast then, professor.'

Severus jerked his head towards the classroom door, and the boy scrambled out of his seat.

'And Potter?'

The boy turned. Severus frowned at him, wondering why, precisely, he felt a cloud of unease at the parting.

'Do try to restrain your penchant for disaster between now and the first of September.'

Potter scowled, and quit the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry and Albus were later to arrive at the Burrow on Saturday than they had originally intended. Harry had had another difficult night – and this time he had not been so lucky as to escape the illness that typically followed. He'd woken burning up and retching, but with almost no memory of the dream that had done it. All he could tell the headmaster was that another old man had been killed… though how he knew even that, he could not recall. Snape's warning replayed in his mind – but though he _had_ been attempting to consciously Occlude in the final few days of his time at the castle, there was nothing Harry could seem to do to hurry his mastery of mind magic.

At least his scar had not re-opened.

Dumbledore had made him drink four potions, and he slept until nearly midday. It had been another two hours before he could convince Minerva he was well enough to leave the castle at all. When at last they had reached a begrudging compromise involving an Invigoration Draught and Harry had finally been allowed to pack up his rucksack, it was coming on tea time.

Dumbledore took him by Floo to the Weasleys' sitting room, which was surprisingly bereft of red-haired friends.

'Maybe they've gone out?' he suggested, a bit forlorn.

But the words had barely left his lips when there was a clatter from the kitchen.

'Albus? Albus is that you?'

Mrs Weasley's face appeared around the open door, her hair a bit frazzled and her cheeks scarlet from the hob. She smiled as she spied them.

'Good Merlin, headmaster, you gave me a fright. Hello, Harry dear!' She wiped slightly floury hands on the front of her pinny and leant in to kiss his cheek. 'Looking a bit off-colour,' she tutted, cupping his face as she pulled back. She shot Dumbledore a half-accusatory eye.

'I'm fine. Thanks for letting me stay, Mrs Weasley.'

'Oh, of course, dear,' she said, waving him off and going up on tip-toe to kiss Dumbledore as well. 'You know you're always welcome. Here – give that over.'

Harry let her relieve him of his rucksack. She sent it upstairs with a flick from her wand. Harry could hear it bumping against the corners of the rickety staircase on its assent, while Mrs Weasley and Dumbledore continued the conversation.

'Arthur will be sorry to have missed you, Albus, but he had to run into the office. Perkins was supposed to meet him today with the tent.'

The headmaster inclined his head. 'Of course. Please do give him my regards. And should you need anything in the next fortnight –'

'Oh, we'll be fine,' she assured him genially. 'Got the whole lot here for the final. Why Charlie –'

She broke off as the front door banged, and a young man Harry did not recognise entered the room.

He knew at once this had to be one of Ron's oldest brothers, and his bet was on Charlie. He was tall, like Ron and Percy, but without Ron's gangly figure and lacking the distinct bookish aura that always defined Percy. His hair – Weasley red as the rest – was longer than either too, tied back from his handsome face in a leather band. His ensemble might not have looked out of place in Muggle London, and Harry could see one ear sported a dangling fang.

'Ah, Bill! Come here, love, come here. You know the headmaster, of course, but I don't believe you've ever met Harry.'

Harry stuck out his hand, hoping his surprise did not show. From everything he'd ever heard of Bill… well. He had been expecting a slighter older Percy.

'Bill Weasley,' the young man said, smiling warmly as he shook Harry's hand. 'I've heard a lot about you. It's a pleasure.'

His eyes flicked briefly to the headmaster. Albus smiled and shook hands in turn.

'Lovely to see you again, Mr Weasley. I trust you've been keeping well?'

'Very well, thank you, sir. Glad to have a bit of a holiday.'

Mrs Weasley tsked, reaching for his fang with a sour expression. 'You might've smartened up a bit, knowing we were expecting company…'

He ducked away from her grasp as Albus laughed. 'Never on my account,' he said jovially. 'Idiosyncrasies are the breath of mankind.'

Harry and Bill both grinned, but Mrs Weasley merely muttered to herself. Dumbledore – who himself had more eccentricity than any man Harry had ever met – glanced at one of them; his planetary pocket watch. 'I do apologise, but I really must be off.'

'Of course, of course,' Mrs Weasley said, fumbling the mantle for her tin of Floo powder.

'No need,' Albus assured her. 'I shall take the walk to the road, I think, and Apparate from there.'

'I'll escort you if you like, headmaster,' Bill offered.

Dumbledore inclined his head. He turned back to Harry, setting a hand on his shoulder. 'I shall see you very soon, Harry.'

Harry nodded. 'Yes, sir. See you on the first.'

Albus winked, squeezed his shoulder, and set off with Bill Weasley through the Burrow's front door.

Mrs Weasley, on the other hand, rounded on him at once. 'Come along into the kitchen, Harry. I'll fix you something to eat.'

'Thanks, Mrs Weasley, but I'm sorted. We've just had tea.'

He was distracted, watching Albus and Bill through the front window. Albus had bent his head close to the Bill's. The latter appeared to be engaging him in whispered conversation as they walked.

Mrs Weasley stepped into his view with her brow furrowed. She peered at him more closely. 'You're sure you're alright, dear? You don't look at all well.'

Harry knew he didn't. If it were not for the fact that Albus knew Mrs Weasley was well capable of handling teenage boys, he was certain the headmaster would not have let him come. But the last thing he wanted was someone else fussing. And it hardly felt fair to shoulder Mrs Weasley with the burden of Voldemort's many crimes as well…

So he smiled half-heartedly and dodged her hand.

'I'm fine,' he repeated. 'Just a bit tired. Is Ron upstairs?'

'Out back in the garden,' she said, still frowning at him. 'But I'll tell him you've gone up if you want to get some rest.'

'No – that's all right. Thanks, Mrs Weasley.'

He smiled at her again and strode off for the rear of the house before she could call him back.

Out in the garden, he found much more than just his best mate. Ron, Ginny, Fred, George and a burly young man in his twenties that Harry knew immediately must be the elusive Charlie Weasley were all gathered on the grass, squabbling over several shabby broomsticks. They were so engaged in their heated discussion, Harry was almost on top of the group before he caught their notice.

In the end, it was Ginny who spied him first.

'Harry! When did you get in?'

The others broke apart, turning to greet him in turn.

'Oi, did you bring your broom, mate?' Ron asked, clapping him on the back as he reached his side.

Behind them, Fred took the opportunity to plop down with the sleekest of the Weasley's lot, tucking it neatly under his knees. George, who appeared to have had the same idea three seconds too late, glared at his twin.

Harry grinned. 'Yeah, I did. It's up in my rucksack in your room.'

'I'll fetch it,' Charlie offered, breaking his handshake with Harry. 'And I'll see if I can wrestle up Bill. I'd ask Percy, but –'

George gave a derisive laugh.

'Bill's gone with Dumbledore,' said Harry. 'To the boundary, I think.'

Charlie nodded and jogged for the house. George began attempting to push Fred off his secreted broomstick. Harry watched them at it, grinning.

'What took you so long?' Ron asked, casually shoving George upright as he was knocked off-balance by his twin.

Harry shrugged. 'Long story. Long morning.'

Ron's eyes narrowed. 'You alright? You look odd.'

'Fine,' he said, a bit terser than he'd meant to. Ron raised an eyebrow. Harry sighed. 'Didn't get much sleep,' he hedged, conscious that Ginny was watching their argument curiously. 'But it doesn't matter now. What's been going on? Hermione coming today as well?'

'Later tonight,' Ron answered, moving past the sticky moment with his own glance at his sister. 'Dad's volunteered to collect her. Think he couldn't resist having a shufti at a real Muggle – WILL YOU TWO QUIT IT!'

Harry shot an arm to stop Ron toppling over, but neither was fast enough to save Fred slamming into Ginny on the rebound. The two crashed to the earth in a pile of limbs and curses.

'You okay?' Harry asked, helping Ginny detangle herself and regain her feet.

She flushed a deep crimson as she took his proffered hand. 'Yeah, thanks. Prat,' she added, glaring at Fred – who Ron had left on the ground.

George grinned wickedly, throwing a leg over his stolen broom just as Charlie and Bill appeared in the back door, the former with three brooms in hand and the latter hovering a wooden chest. Charlie handed Harry his Firebolt while the others chose mounts, and the seven of them made their way towards the meadow the Weasleys used as a make-shift pitch.

'You can use mine, if you like,' Harry offered Ginny, who was wiping blood off her elbow with a sour expression and clutching a beat-up Cleansweep.

'Thanks Harry, but I'm sorted.'

He shrugged. 'We ought to trade off with it anyway,' he suggested. 'It's only fair.'

'You start,' she insisted, still pink-faced with apparent embarrassment from the scuffle. 'Charlie – have you got a knut to toss?'

She ran to catch her second eldest brother up, leaving Harry and Ron to bring up the rear. Ron leant closer as Ginny crested the hill and disappeared ahead of them.

'So… what's happened?'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Just the usual,' he dodged again. 'Been having some trouble sleeping. Nothing I can't handle.'

'I've seen your version of 'trouble sleeping' before, Harry,' Ron hissed doubtfully.

Harry grimaced but did not reply.

They caught up to the others at the edge of the meadow the Weasleys often used for Quidditch practise. In a small valley of sorts between the grassy hill that led to the Weasley garden and wooded knolls to both sides, it was relatively protected from Muggle observers. Ron had told Harry on his last visit that the meadow was charmed with Notice-Me-Not spells, just in case. Even so, they usually tossed apples or Muggle tennis balls to one another to prevent a stray Quidditch ball wandering off and into the Muggle village.

Today, however, Charlie was bent over the wooden chest he and Bill had brought, unhitching leather straps that restrained a real Quaffle.

'Don't tell Mum,' he said with a wink, passing the Quaffle to Ron. 'She's already been at me for bringing them from Romania. I had to sneak past her…'

'Brilliant,' Ron approved, tossing and catching the ball.

'Best not use the Snitch,' Bill advised. 'I've done the containment spell, but Snitches have too much magic on them already… can't be sure it'll work.'

Charlie nodded his agreement. George, meanwhile, was undoing the fastenings on one of the Bludgers while his twin kept a stabilising grip on the ball.

'We'll go three on four,' Charlie said, sizing up the group. 'And then we can switch someone halfway through. George, Bill and Harry take the far end. Fred, Ron and I will play here. Ginny can be the swing.'

'You start one up, as I've got this,' Harry suggested, raising the Firebolt. 'And we can switch mounts after a bit too.'

They tossed for possession and took to the air. Harry relished in the match, which – without a Snitch in play – stayed fairly even for some time. Charlie was an excellent flyer. Harry would have liked to watch him play at Seeker, if they had been able to use the golden ball. He would have enjoyed the challenge. Bill was not quite in the same league as Charlie or the twins, but he flew just as well as Ron. Ginny – to Harry's surprise – was better than both; perhaps even than Fred and George. Hers was the first goal of the match.

'I'm not sure I _should_ give it to you,' he joked, when they landed for a change of mount after fifteen minutes. Harry's side was trailing by thirty – mostly due to the witch's efforts. 'Least not until you're scoring for our side.'

She grinned as she passed over her own broom and tossed her ponytail over one shoulder. 'It's a good thing _you're_ not out to replace Wood this year,' she said cheekily. 'You're a brilliant Seeker, but your Keeping leaves a bit to be desired…'

He laughed, and they shot upwards again. Her broom was much, _much_ slower than he was used to, and Harry found himself frustrated as he tried to loop Ron with the Quaffle for a shot at goal. The ball found its mark.

'Nice one, Harry!' Bill approved, slapping his hand as they passed in the air. Harry grinned, speeding back down the pitch to guard their own hoops from the return.

He had just swung his broom around when his scar gave a faint prickle. Automatically, he slapped a hand to his forehead, a thrill of fear running up his spine.

'Harry?'

Ron had soared past him, scoring without Harry even noticing.

Harry brought his hand quickly back down. The prickle had vanished; pain more ghost than actual. He tried in vain to shrug it off as George recovered the ball, tucked it under the arm holding his club, and flew off.

'Sorry, head rush.'

He had not told Ron or Hermione about the dreams. Not because he was afraid they would think him mad, or panic. It just didn't seem the type of thing one ought to say by letter… and he hadn't wanted to mar their few hours together thus far this summer with such dire pronouncements. Plus, he knew what such a revelation would start. Hermione would go full-fledged librarian on him, researching everything she could think of even after he told her Dumbledore's position. Then she would turn mother, and lecture him senseless on the need to practise Occlumency more effectively. As if Dumbledore – and now Snape – were not pushing the issue as much as Harry's nerves could take already. Ron would, perhaps, take Dumbledore's lessons in mind magic as a comfort on the issue. But Ron was different than Hermione. Ron had lost family the last time Voldemort was powerful. Ron, perhaps even more than Hermione, he would scare.

Still… he could not put it off forever. He remembered the previous year, when Ron had insisted he leave the hangings open… how he'd wanted to know if Harry was having a nightmare; wanted to be able to call him out of it. Ron deserved to know. Hermione too. And Harry – whatever he kept telling himself – did not _want_ to shoulder this burden without their help.

'From your trouble sleeping?' Ron asked sarcastically, slowing to keep pace as they both drifted towards the middle of the pitch.

Harry sighed. 'Look, I'll tell you both tonight. When Hermione gets here.'

Ron looked mutinous, but he gave a curt nod. He made to fly away again, but Harry – caught up in the memory of his last dream – called after him.

'Does the name Nagini mean anything to you?'

Ron turned ten feet away with a puzzled expression, a clear denial on his lips. But another voice came sharply from Harry's left.

'Nagini?'

It was Bill. He had pulled his broom to a halt mere inches from Harry's, and his face had lost all colour. Harry started.

'Yeah. She's… it's a snake.'

He stopped himself short of revealing the whole truth. He did not know Bill well, after all.

'A snake…' Bill repeated. He frowned deeply, staring off at the woods beyond Harry's shoulder as though not truly seeing anything. The sounds of the continuing match hummed around them, but Harry was too focused on Bill to pay it any mind.

'You've heard of her?' he prompted, drawing Bill's attention back.

Bill's eyes refocused. He gave a very strained smile. 'No, not as such. A trick of memory, I think.'

Harry stared. He was sure that Bill was lying. But the latter gave a nod and zoomed away up the pitch. For a moment, Harry wished he could do Legilimency, like Albus or Snape… pull the information right out of Bill's head. Force the truth to the surface.

He recoiled, horrified with himself. He had to grab the broom handle to keep in the air.

'Harry –'

How could he even think such things? He – who knew what it was to have one's mind attacked; one's secret thoughts exposed.

' _Harry_ –'

It was wrong.

He was not like Snape; not like Voldemort. Perhaps Bill, like Albus, _did_ know something of Nagini he was keeping from Harry. He would work to find it out. But he would not wish for the power to violate another's mind to do it. That was dark. That was dangerous. That was –

'HARRY – WATCH IT!'

He whirled, but it was far too late. The Bludger they had been using was careening straight for his face. He made desperately to dodge, but even his Firebolt would have had trouble at this distance, and the beat-up Cleansweep stood no –

 _BANG!_

He pulled up short, heart pounding against his ribs. George panted as he regained his balance on his own broom and let his club arm relax. He rubbed at his shoulder and gave Harry a grimace.

'Close one, mate. Good thing I beat out Fred now, isn't it?'

Harry gave a half-grin. 'Cheers.'

'Harry, what the _bloody hell_?' Ron demanded, swooping up to take George's place as the latter scrambled up the pitch with Bill.

Harry shook himself. 'Sorry. Distracted, I suppose.'

' _Distracted_?' Ron echoed incredulously. 'You could've broken your neck, you idiot.'

He smiled. 'I said I'm fine, Ron.'

But this time, Ron did not seem keen to be placated. 'Look – what's really going on, Harry? You've been off since you got here. Do you want to go in, or –'

'CHARLIE WEASLEY – I _TOLD_ YOU NOT TO USE THOSE OUT HERE!'

For the second time in the span of five minutes, Harry nearly came off his broom. All seven of them froze in mid-air as Mrs Weasley strode down the hill with her wand at the ready. Harry was vaguely surprised she had not set the grass afire with her fury.

'Bullocks,' Ginny groaned, coming to a stop beside them.

'Down here, all of you!'

They alit on the grass, each – even the two of age – as cowed as naughty toddlers as Mrs Weasley descended upon them in high temper.

'Flying about with floating balls – where anyone might see them should they leave the boundary… After I _specifically_ told you, Charlie!'

'Mum, we charmed the pitch,' Bill tried to reason. 'They couldn't have –'

'Your father works for the Ministry, William!' She shouted, whirling on him. 'You think it fair to hang his career on your Charm work? Not to mention the danger, using a real Bludger without any Mediwitch on site.'

She gestured angrily at Harry. George dove on top of the Bludger as it sought them on the ground, and Charlie strapped it back into its chest with the Quaffle. Mrs Weasley seized it from his hands the moment the lid had closed.

'You could have done him a serious injury – and then what would Albus say?' she ranted, tapping the chest so its lock clicked shut.

'Mum – Harry's the best Quidditch player in the school,' Ron said, shaking his head. 'He wasn't going to –'

'I don't care if he plays for England, Ronald,' she snapped back. 'I'll not be explaining to the headmaster how my sons broke both the Statute of Secrecy and Harry Potter in one afternoon. Inside – all of you. Your father will be back from the Grangers any minute.'

She whirled, leading the march back up the hill with the casket of confiscated balls floating ahead of her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shouting woke him in the middle of the night. Groggy with the nearness of the full moon, it took Remus several moments to drag himself from the mattress. He tried his best to stem the annoyance he felt at the sound. After all, it wasn't Sirius' fault, these nightmares, and they _had_ been abating of late.

He staggered from his room, still bleary-eyed. Sirius came bursting out of his own bedroom, still screaming.

Remus stopped dead in the corridor to take in the sight – bitterly torn between concern and laughter as the reality of the situation came to him in an instant. Sirius, finally quieted, scowled as the hilarity won out and Remus was taken to the floor with wheezing.

'It's not a joke, you prat,' he growled, voice slightly hoarse from the incessant screaming. 'Look at me – I've got Dragon Pox!'

Remus understood the wild thought. After all, the visible bits of Sirius' skin had gone a foul shade of mottled green that unpleasantly resembled vomit.

With considerable effort, Remus pulled himself together. He pushed himself laboriously off his knees and shook his head.

'No, you haven't. You've got Malaclaw poisoning.'

Sirius stared. 'I… what?'

'I thought the lobby looked dodgy,' Remus recalled, shaking his head. 'This is precisely why you shouldn't do the cooking.'

He felt some of the guilt himself. He had been so exhausted this afternoon that he had fallen asleep on the veranda while Sirius was walking the beach. When he'd returned and announced excitedly that he'd found a lobster crawling on the rocks, Remus had decided even Sirius could probably handle boiling water on his own and headed to bed with a vague instruction to be sure it was in at least 20 minutes.

Perhaps he should have had a look at the colouring first.

'You think the _lobster_ did this?' Sirius complained, scratching at a particularly deep green spot under his chin. 'That's absurd! I've eaten it loads of times before.'

'It wasn't lobster,' Remus explained patiently. 'It was a Malaclaw. It looks a lot like lobster… and it's poisonous to eat it.'

'I took Care of Magical Creatures,' Sirius spat. 'I _know_ what a Malaclaw is.'

Remus tried to keep his face straight – truly he did. But he could not keep his lips from twitching. 'Evidently not.'

'But just say –'

'Sirius, we have interacted with about five people for the past two months. You think it's more likely that you've contracted Dragon Pox than that you might have ingested something off?'

Sirius pouted. 'Alright then,' he said mulishly. 'But it feels awful.'

'Yes, I imagine you do,' Remus allowed, though he was still smirking. 'Malaclaw causes a nasty fever. Stop itching – that's not going to help, and you'll probably spread the rash.'

'Says the mediwitch…'

Remus ignored the grumbling and sighed. 'It'll take a few days to clear up. Get back to bed. I'll bring something.'

'I still think it's Dragon Pox.'

Remus shook his head, unable to hide his smile as he turned for the door. 'Of course you do.'

But in his own exhaustion and amusement… Remus failed to ask the most important question.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _He was pretty sure he was maybe dying._

 _A hacking cough had come out of nowhere, waking him in the middle of the night. By morning, Sirius could tell he had a fever. His whole body ached, his throat was raw, and he could barely summon the energy to shuffle himself from the bed to the sofa in his tiny flat. He sniffled pathetically, thumbing the pages of the book on Healing that Marlene had conveniently left there three days before. As much as he had laughed at her interest over the past three months, he was grateful for it now._

 _He wished she had been there when he woke in the night. Or that he was still living with the Potters – where Lily would fuss and bring one of her charmed blankets, and James would stoke the fire and brew mint tea. He would go there today, if he were not afraid to pass this affliction to the baby._

 _He adjusted his own quilt moodily. Lily's were so much more comfortable._

 _In the mid-afternoon – barely ten minutes after he had finally caved and sent his message – he heard footsteps on the staircase._

 _'Sirius?'_

 _He looked up hopefully at the familiar voice – which had sounded slightly panicked. He folded down the corner of the page with all the gory details and set the book quickly to one side, preparing his best puppy-dog eyes for her arrival._

 _'In here!' he called out croakily._

 _A muttered spell sounded at the door to the flat. Marley dove in and shut it hurriedly, whipping to face him without stowing her wand. She looked utterly beautiful – her cheeks pink from the blustery day and her golden hair falling out of its plait as she pushed it impatiently out of her face. Her expression, however, did not soften as he had expected it to when she found him on the sofa. Instead, her eyes went from concern to immediate irritation._

 _She tossed her satchel from her shoulder to his cluttered kitchen table as she stormed into the room._

 _'Your Patronus said it was an emergency!'_

 _She stopped on the edge of the carpet and appraised him, crossing her arms and tapping her wand against her elbow. 'Tell me I did_ not _just skive off patrol because you have a sniffle.'_

 _Sirius opened his mouth, and sneezed twice before he could summon a response past his indignity. 'It's not a_ sniffle _!' he protested crossly. 'I'll have you know – I only asked_ you _here because I thought you ought to know first… but if I'd known you'd be so_ put out _I would have just sent for Lance directly.'_

 _Marley raised a supercilious eyebrow. Sirius glowered at the total lack of compassion. She looked around the room – taking in the dirty plates stacked up in the kitchen that had gathered between her departure three days ago and last night; the trail of bedding Sirius had left as he stumbled his way from the cocoon of sheets into the sitting room with his quilt; the mountain of used handkerchiefs at his side._

 _'This place is a disaster,' she sighed, kneading her temple. 'Did you even get dressed today?'_

 _Sirius pulled back a corner of his blanket to show her the nightshirt he still wore. 'I'm_ ill _,' he emphasised, amazed she could be so tactless. 'I thought you'd at least_ pretend _to care.'_

 _'I do care, Sirius!' she said, tugging at the end of her plait in exasperation. 'And when my shift's over tonight, I'll come back and make you homemade soup and everything, I promise. But honestly, you can't send me that kind of message if there's nothing seriously wrong. There's a fucking_ war _on!'_

 _'Fine then!' he spat, furious. 'I'll just –'_

 _He broke off into another coughing fit before he could finish the angry thought. Marley's face softened just a fraction. She closed the distance between them, summoning a glass of water from the kitchen and handing it to him. She felt his brow with cool fingers, and pushed him gently back against the cushions of the sofa._

 _'Relax,' she soothed, carding his hair. 'I'm sorry I shouted. I'll get you some potion before I head back –'_

 _She turned to go, but he caught her wrist._

 _'Don't go,' he begged, setting the glass down. 'I… I have to tell you something.'_

 _She hesitated, watching him curiously._

 _Sirius released her wrist and sighed. He reached behind his back and retrieved the book, passing it to her with a solemn air. She frowned as she flipped it over._

 _'I wondered where this had got to!' she said, brightening as she recognised the cover. 'Excellent. I meant to ask whether I left my navy dress robes as well. I swear, I can't find –'_

 _'It doesn't look good,' he tried to warn her over the rambling._

 _Marley's eyes darkened. 'What doesn't look good?' she asked suspiciously, glancing toward the loo. 'If you tried to launder them yourself… Sirius, those are my best!'_

 _'No, you dolt, not the robes! I've been reading it,' Sirius said hoarsely. 'The book. Trying to figure out what's wrong with me. And…'_

 _He hesitated, not sure how to drop this bomb gently. She was looking at him oddly again – completely oblivious. He took a deep breath._

 _'It's Scrofungulus,' he revealed._

 _Marley was silent a full three seconds. Then she set the book on the coffee table without looking at the page he'd so helpfully marked. She crossed her arms again._

 _'Really? That's quite a rare occurrence, as I understand it.'_

 _To his slight surprise, Marley almost looked as though she were fighting a smile. But then, Sirius supposed, people had all sorts of odd reactions to shock and stress._

 _'It's rare, but it comes in outbreaks,' he informed her. 'I made that visit to Oslo last month – I suppose I could have brought it back without realising…'_

 _'Hmm…' she agreed, tapping her chin. 'What are the symptoms?'_

 _'In the early stages – fever, fatigue, chills, body aches, sore throat…' Sirius rattled off at once. He hadn't needed to memorise the list in the book, as he had recognised almost every one in himself. 'Sometimes hallucinations – but those usually don't happen unless you leave it untreated into the second week, which I why I need to call for –'_

 _To his distinct amazement, Marley gave an undignified snort. Then she started to laugh. Not a slight chuckle or a quiet titter either… but a full-blown bout of obnoxious hysteria that rang through the room. Sirius watched in horror as she actually fell onto the sofa beside him, wiping moisture from her eyes and shaking her head._

 _'It is_ not _funny! You have got to be the most cold-hearted –'_

 _'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' she gasped out, sounding quite as winded as he felt, struggling to get her insanity under control._

 _'You sure sound it,' Sirius spat petulantly. He swung his legs away from her off the sofa and made to stand. The room spun dangerously almost at once, and he fell back to his bum with a grunt._

 _'Oh, it's okay love,' Marley shushed, straightening from her fit and smoothing the quilt back over his shoulders. He jerked irritably away from her._

 _'I shouldn't laugh,' she apologised again. 'But Sirius, you do_ not _have Scrofungulus.'_

 _'I read the book! And I have_ all _the symptoms of –'_

 _'Common cold, flu and about a dozen other normal, everyday viruses that can be cured in about an hour,' Marley soothed, brushing at his hair again. 'You're not dying of a rare magical disease.'_

 _'You don't know that,' he muttered, crossing his arms._

 _'Hmm,' she agreed, kissing him on the forehead. She tested his neck with the tips of her fingers and shook her head. 'If you had Scrofungulus, your lymph nodes would be about six times as swollen as this. Your fever would be sky-high, and you'd probably have a purplish rash on your neck and shoulders.'_

 _She pulled down the collar of his shirt. 'All clear,' she promised with a smile._

 _Sirius did not relax his frown. 'I took Pepper-Up first thing when I woke in the middle of the night. It didn't do shit.'_

 _'It sounds like what I had last week,' she told him with that same maddening calm. 'Fever reducer and a bit of anti-inflammatory, and you'll be alright in a day or two.'_

 _Sirius stared at her, certain she had lost her mind. Yes, Marley had been ill last week. But she'd still come over, and made supper, and… other things. She hadn't even missed patrol. Obviously, whatever Sirius had come down with was much, much more than that virus had been. He couldn't even move off the sofa, for Merlin's sake._

 _'I don't think so,' he disagreed stubbornly. 'This is much worse.'_

 _'Of course it is,' Marley said, smirking slightly. 'Because you're a wizard.'_

 _Sirius glared. 'So are you.'_

 _'No,_ I _am a witch. I thought you might have noticed by now.'_

 _'You're saying this flu affects wizards differently from witches?' Sirius demanded, sceptical. 'Lance teach you that?'_

 _'Of course it does,' Marley said sweetly. 'Exclusively in the male members of the magical community, such maladies are well known to cause extreme, debilitating lethargy, irritability and whinging that occasionally borders on regressionist behaviour.'_

 _Sirius conjured the strength to toss a throw pillow at her. 'Very funny. You ought to be on the stage.'_

 _Marley batted it away with a laugh. 'Remember when Remus made you read that Muggle novel?'_

 _Sirius scowled, pretty certain he knew where this was going._

 _'And you thought you had leukaemia?' she prompted._

 _'I might have done. Wizards don't_ usually _get cancer, but it's not entirely –'_

 _'And we had to get Madam Pomfrey, Lance_ and _Dumbledore to have a look at you before you finally accepted it really was just the decaffeinated tea Lily bought?'_

 _'Alright, alright,' he said huffily. 'I'm pretty sure I'm still more ill than you ever were. And when I die from Scrofungulus, you'd better put 'I told you so' on my headstone.'_

 _Marley gave a wicked grin. 'Count on it.'_

 _She mussed the top of Sirius' head and popped up off the sofa. 'Drink the water – you should keep your fluids up. I'll bring some potion.'_

 _Sirius watched her trot off to the loo, kicking his legs back up and moodily shifting his many pillows. He was still irritated that she hadn't taken him seriously… but he couldn't help admiring the way her robes swung at her hips all the same._

 _She was back in a few moments – an antipyretic and the anti-inflammatory that she'd suggested before in her hands. She handed him the phials and sat in the sliver of cushion between his hip and left arm._

 _'Feeling better?' she asked, combing his hair back with her fingers when he'd drained the phials._

 _Sirius shrugged. 'Bit better,' he agreed noncommittally. 'I'm still too exhausted to move.'_

 _Marley rolled her eyes. 'A pity. Because you could_ really _use a bath.'_

 _'I don't have the energy for it,' he protested pitifully. She snorted. 'I'll prove it to you.'_

 _With more strength than he had thought he had, Sirius hooked her under the knee and yanked her sideways, so that with a little yelp Marley ended up straddling his waist. He slid a hand expertly under the hem of her robe, tracing his fingertips up her leg. He felt her stiffen._

 _'I'll have you know,' he breathed into her ear, 'I'm so ill right now, I don't even want to shag.'_

 _Marley giggled. 'Sirius Black, unable to shag?' she mocked. 'Merlin, we'd really better get a Healer. You must be dying…'_

 _Sirius' hand had reached the soft curve where her thigh met the hipbone. He pushed it higher, pressing her waist against his chest. Marley's breath grew heavy with his own quickened rate. He began to kiss her ear; the soft hollow at her jawbone; curving round her neck…_

 _'I thought you were too exhausted?' she gasped out as he bit._

 _'Mmm, I am,' he said into her collarbone. 'But I've just thought – I_ should _probably rally… Dumbledore says love is the most powerful medicine, after all.'_

 _'Magic,' Marley corrected. 'Love is the most powerful_ magic _, not medicine. That's Dumbledore's thing. And I'm fairly certain he was not referring to the actual act of –'_

 _She broke off with another gasp as his hand darted elsewhere. She scooted back somewhat in response, and her eyes flashed wickedly as she met an obstruction. 'Guess you aren't too tired after all,' she teased. 'But I've got patrol to get back to – and you're all snotty.' She tossed a handkerchief from her own pocket over his face to prove her point. 'Not exactly a girl's sweet dream at the moment.'_

 _Sirius growled and blew the fabric aside. He grabbed her round the middle and flipped them, pinning Marley against the cushions instead. She squealed._

 _'Watch it, kid,' he warned, hands splayed over the curve of her waist, arching her toward him from the navel._

 _Her eyes glinted in challenge. 'Bring it.'_

 _Thirty minutes later, Sirius was fairly certain the sheen of sweat and ragged breath had little to do with fever. They had made it to the bedroom – another burst of energy he would have thought beyond him in his current maladroit state. He had even let her talk him into the shower after, on agreement that she would join. Now, he coughed lightly on the bed, feeling much improved and watching her dress._

 _'You sodding prick,' Marley complained, yanking at the gaping fabric over her chest in a way that nearly made him force her back down again. 'I loved this top.'_

 _Sirius tossed his hair back from his brow and leant on his elbows. He shrugged. 'You want me to charm it?'_

 _She glared furiously. 'Those repair charms don't last on nice clothes. It'll never be the same.'_

 _He tapped her with his foot teasingly. 'It's not my fault you buy these. You want to keep your clothes? Stop getting the ones I have to tear off.'_

 _She gave him a withering look, but charmed the shirt all the same. Toeing on her shoes, she gave the clock on Sirius' bedside table an anxious glance. 'You –' she bent to kiss him. 'Are an arse. And I have to go.'_

 _He grinned. 'Come back later, won't you? I might need another dose.'_

 _'Take a potion,' she suggested from the other room, where he could hear her retrieving her satchel. 'And find my dress robes!'_

 _But through the doorframe he could see her smirk as she left the flat… and he knew she would._

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Twenty-Two**

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! So glad you are still enjoying the instalments and the story as a whole – and I really appreciate your comments! I hope you'll like Chapter 23!

 **Leonore** : Thank you for the review! Even when you don't have time to leave a long one, it's such a pleasure to hear from readers, especially when you're liking the work. I hope you'll also enjoy Chapter 23!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for reviewing! I know it's super irritating hearing the hints on Nagini… but I promise that story will be told in due course (and I was super excited to see that the trailer that dropped a week or so after this chapter was published seems to indicate JKR is, at least in part, going down a similar path!). Haha, I loved giving little Harry such an innocent but hilarious nickname for Dumbledore, and I'm glad you liked it! Enjoy the next chapter!

 **Alathenia:** Great to hear from you, and so glad you are still enjoying the story! Thank you for your review. Ooh such a cliffhanger… and while I suspect the latest Crimes of Grindelwald trailer that dropped a week or so after this chapter will have clued up some readers to at least part of her secret, Nagini's tale in the COH world is going to go very dark, and – at least I hope – come with some twists and turns that will surprise the readers. As for the Tales of Beedle the Bard – it's a quick read, and I definitely recommend it. There are several great nuggets in the book. And yes – the Tale of Three Brothers will _definitely_ come up later in COH.

Thank you for your compliments, but I'm not sure I'm all that great lol. It does get a bit easier the more you practise though. And there's so much great source material in the world of Harry Potter, it's a pleasure to work within. I hope you like the next chapter!

 **Hi (Guest Reviewer)** : Well… your answer is today! :) I hope you enjoy the update.


	24. In the Cavern of Merlin

**A/N:** A bit longer than I had hoped – but here is Chapter 24, 'In the Cavern of Merlin'. Much thanks to everyone who reviewed last time, and I do hope you all enjoy the next instalment!

As always…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

 **In the Cavern of Merlin**

It was an unusually cool night, even by August's unpredictable standards in the Scottish Highlands. Severus helped himself to a measure of the headmaster's whisky and a prime seat by the roaring fire as he awaited Albus' return, perusing a copy of _Transfiguration Today_.

Albus was overdue. Severus had expected to ask his ear at dinner, but the headmaster had not arrived in the Great Hall. Instead, he had been forced into conversation with a particularly irascible Argus Filch, who seemed even more certain than Severus himself that the arrival of several dozen foreigners and their illustrious delegations in mid-autumn would swell an upsurge of miscreant behaviour in their own students. Minerva – some ways down the long table with Poppy and Hagrid – ignored his pointed attempts to gain her intercedence, and Severus' short temper frayed further as her smirk grew over the hour. Her lack of any helpful information as to Albus' whereabouts did not improve his humour.

He had escaped the Great Hall to take solace in the headmaster's chambers, anticipating Albus' short arrival. But the moon rose high in the sky before the oak door finally opened.

Weariness was etched in the headmaster's expression, but he did not appear surprised to find his audience. Severus set _Transfiguration Today_ to one side.

'I take it the boy arrived in one piece to his insufferable companion's abode?'

Albus shot him a quelling look as he turned to hang his travelling cloak. 'He did indeed. Though your concern is touching.'

'You were longer than I had thought. Did Molly Weasley entice you to dinner?'

'On the contrary, I hardly tarried half an hour. I met an acquaintance after the Burrow.'

'An acquaintance? Minerva did not say.'

Albus seated himself in his favourite armchair and called the decanter to him with a lazy flick of his wrist. It poured itself over a conjured glass as the headmaster raised an amused eyebrow.

'It is unlike you to mind my timetable so assiduously, Severus. Have the battlements fallen in my evening away?'

Severus frowned. 'Beg pardon, headmaster,' he said rather icily, 'But I did think you would wish to discuss our plans for Nott. Especially in light of Potter's most recent revelation.'

'Peace, Severus. I meant no insult,' Albus relented, losing his previous joviality. 'And you are quite right.'

He took his whisky from the side table, twisting the glass in long fingers.

'Potter was not able to tell you the location of this latest event?' Severus pressed, when the headmaster did not volunteer further information. 'Nothing at all?'

Albus sighed. 'Not much. He remembers a high-backed chair and that Lord Voldemort's serpent was there. Who was killed or why, he does not know. He could not recall even the man's face, though he seemed certain he was dead.'

Severus drummed his fingers against the arm of the sofa. 'And the location?'

'But for the chair, Harry could add little except that the room was in semi-darkness.'

'So, for Potter's latest failure at Occluding his mind, we are no further along in discovering the Dark Lord's whereabouts.'

'Patience,' Albus insisted. 'Harry is doing his best. And in the meanwhile, I cannot be anything but grateful that his connection appears imperfect. It is not Harry's duty to spy on Lord Voldemort.'

'No,' Severus hissed with a hint of resentment. 'That is the task you assign to me. And yet _I_ cannot know, Albus, whether I am about to walk into the Dark Lord's own stronghold…'

'Do you believe so, Severus?' Albus challenged sharply. 'If that is indeed your opinion, then you know my views. It is far too early for such gambles, and I will not jeopardise your life.'

Severus hesitated, just a moment. 'I cannot be sure,' he admitted at last, 'But I doubt it. Nott has a son at Hogwarts. The Dark Lord knows this. While I still believe he is likeliest to seek assistance from Nott or Lucius, I do not believe he will do so until term resumes. He will not countenance an external variable.'

Albus nodded slowly, though his frown did not recede. 'The stage is premature. And yet I must confess, these continuing tidings from Harry's dreams disquiet me. Voldemort has been particularly active, and he is most definitely in Britain. The impending World Cup –'

'The Dark Lord is not a fool, Albus. Were he powerful once more, the match would prove an enticement he could not pass up. But isolated and weak, he would not wish to draw attention at such a heavily secured event. Why lure the Ministry into a hunt, when he cannot hope to repel them?'

'Why indeed….' Albus echoed, stroking at his beard with the hand not clutching his whisky.

A burst of fire startled the Potions Master. Fawkes appeared inches from Dumbledore's chair, his wings rising and falling gently as he hovered before him. The headmaster reached forward, taking what appeared to be a furled scroll from the phoenix' beak before Fawkes glided to seat himself on the back of his chair. Albus fingered the scroll for a moment with a furrowed brow, but did not open it. From his angle, Severus could not discern the seal.

Dumbledore pocketed it.

'And have you chosen a time for your visit?' he asked, returning to their conversation without comment on the interruption.

The phoenix' doleful eyes were watching him, as piercing as their master's. Severus broke the gaze. 'I spoke with Lucius just this morning. We shall call on Nott tomorrow evening.'

Albus nodded. 'Just as well. Should there be anything to which Mr Nott may be the wiser, we shall have nearly a fortnight to act before term resumes.'

'If we do not arouse his suspicion in the meanwhile,' Severus muttered.

'You are a man of particular talent, Severus,' Albus said airily, choosing a sugar treat from a tin on the side table and offering it to the bird. 'I have complete faith.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mrs Weasley's ire had worn itself out, in the main, by the time her husband made his appearance. Mr Weasley and Hermione strolled through the door together just in time for supper, Hermione with a gleam in her eye that Harry well recognised.

'Arthur!' Mrs Weasley exclaimed, nearly dropping the courgette in her hand as she spun in surprise. 'I thought you'd be coming by Floo!'

'Forgot to take along a pouch from the office,' he explained, shaking his head in self-remonstration. 'And of course, the Grangers haven't any – Muggles, you understand. Though I've told them I'll have some sent along now their hearth's connected. You ought to see it, Molly – great woodpiles on either side, have to have the logs brought in –'

'You father took me Side-Along!' whispered Hermione excitedly, breaking off a hug with Harry and leaning in to greet Ron. 'It was fascinating. I've never Apparated before.'

Ron grimaced over Hermione's bushy hair. 'I don't much like it Side-Along. It's always made me queasy.'

Harry grinned and shrugged. 'I've had a lot of practise lately. I can't wait to have a go on my own.'

'Can't, can you, before you're seventeen?' Fred put in. 'George and I will be learning this year though.'

Taking advantage of his mother's distraction (for Mr Weasley was now happily explaining milk delivery to her), he neatly spooned up a helping of her duck ragout. Seconds later, he yelped as her stinging hex caught his hand halfway to his mouth. She hadn't even turned.

George tossed him a tea towel to wipe his front. 'You start in your sixth year at Hogwarts. But you can't apply for a licence until you're seventeen.'

'You have to have a licence to Apparate?' asked Harry. He had a vague sense the headmaster might have clued him up before, but he hadn't been paying much attention to the details.

'Of course you do,' said Hermione. She waved an impatient hand and took a deep breath. Harry and Ron exchanged half-exasperated grins.

'Apparition is really dangerous, Harry. Lots of wizards have badly injured themselves or others trying to do it, even after they've passed their test. Some have even died! And of course, there are other limitations too. You can't Apparate unless you can visualise your destination, so it's usually really difficult if you aren't familiar with where you're going. Distance matters too – most wizards can only Apparate relatively short distances, though sometimes more powerful wizards can go hundreds of miles in one Apparition. And then the Ministry puts restrictions on it as well. You have to have a licence, of course. You can't Apparate internationally in most countries. And lots of wizarding buildings have Anti-Apparition wards, like Hogwarts, where –'

'Alright, alight,' Ron interrupted, holding up his hands. 'We get the point, Hermione.'

'It's a very difficult art,' Mrs Weasley said, nudging Fred away from her saucepans with her hip while Mr Weasley carted Hermione's bag upstairs. 'There are plenty of grown wizards who prefer safer methods of travel.'

'Test's not easy, either,' George piped up. 'Remember what happened to Charlie?'

Fred snorted. 'Right on top of that poor old –'

'Telling my war stories, are you?'

Charlie himself stepped into the room, raising his wand in mock-threat. 'I'd remember who's legal to do magic outside the castle now, little brother…'

'Course not,' said George sweetly. 'You've always been the charitable type, Charles. I reckon you only wanted to help her carry her –'

The spell shot past his left ear, as George neatly side-stepped.

'No wandwork in this kitchen but mine!' Mrs Weasley snapped from the cooker. 'Out, out – the lot of you. Find something to do for twenty minutes and give my nerves a break.'

Fred, George and Charlie chased one another into the back garden, and Harry, Ron and Hermione began the winding climb to Ron's bedroom, still laughing.

'Have I missed out on the fun?' Mr Weasley asked jovially, meeting them at the third floor.

'Mum says we're eating in twenty,' said Ron.

Mr Weasley nodded. 'Your things are in Ginny's room when you need them, Hermione.'

She smiled. 'Thanks, Mr Weasley.'

'Harry, you alright?'

Harry pulled his hand from his forehead. He hadn't even realised he'd been rubbing the scar again. Ron and Hermione looked at him. He was mildly amused to find Ron's concern the more obvious of the two.

'Fine, sir. Mrs Weasley wanted a bit of space, I think, but if you need us –'

He waved him down. 'Oh no, no, I'm sure she has things under control.'

They squeezed against the wall to let him pass, and then hurried up the steps to the final landing. Ron ushered them in and closed the door. He also locked it.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'Expecting burglars, are we?'

'You haven't lived with Fred and George this summer,' Ron warned darkly, brushing past them to begin a quick search of his mattress. 'Can't be too careful. And Mum won't let us set charms on the bedrooms.'

Apparently deciding the mattress was sound, he motioned them over to sit. 'So, you going to tell us what's going on now, Harry?'

Hermione scrutinised the both of them. 'What are you talking about?'

'Harry's been _distracted_ ,' Ron said, making inverted commas with his fingers. 'He nearly got himself knocked out of the air by a Bludger when we were playing Quidditch before you turned up.'

'You had a _Bludger_ in –'

'I wasn't –'

'You would have been,' Ron cut in stubbornly. 'If George hadn't come when he did.'

'What's the matter?' Hermione demanded, frowning at Harry. 'Are you not feeling well?'

'I feel _fine_ ,' Harry growled impatiently. 'Well, now, at least. I've been having these… well, dreams, I suppose.'

'Nightmares?' Ron corrected tersely.

Harry glared at him, feeling his face grow warm. 'It's not like that. They aren't… it's hard to explain.'

Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron. 'You've had nightmares before, Harry,' she said softly. 'And it isn't anything to get sensitive about. Everyone has bad dreams from time to time.'

For some reason, her gentleness incensed him even more than Ron's glower. He felt almost irrationally angry.

'Oh really? Has _everyone_ been seeing Lord Voldemort on a killing spree lately too? Did you see him torture a witch as well? Watch him poison some bloke on a sailing boat? Thank Merlin – I thought I was all on my onesome over here…'

The effect was instantaneous. Hermione paled, and Ron looked as though he might be sick. Harry regretted his moment of sarcastic temper.

'Sorry,' he said, rubbing at his scar. It had begun to prickle again. 'I didn't mean to… I shouldn't have said it like that.'

Neither of the others spoke. He gave a nervous laugh.

'You think I'm mental? Yeah… yeah, I suppose I would too…'

Hermione recovered first. 'Of course we don't think you're mad, Harry,' she said in a shaky voice. 'But what… what do you mean, you've been _seeing_ You-Know-Who?'

Ron cleared his throat. 'Like you're imagining it? Or is it like – like some sort of flashback?'

Harry shook his head. 'They aren't memories, and they aren't imagination either. Dumbledore says… Well, he says they're true; real, I mean.'

They both stared at him again. Harry took a deep breath, and he told them almost everything. The first dream this summer, where he had seen Voldemort and Pettigrew and the woman he now knew was Bertha Jorkins. The second one, where the woman had died; where Voldemort had caressed the snake with a makeshift body. The one with the old man and the boat. And the last two, shrouded and distorted… the one with the snake; and the one where another man had died. He told them how he had grown ill each time; the pain in his scar that seemed to sear at each vision.

When he finally finished, Ron and Hermione's expressions had gone, if possible, even more anxious. Then the reactions he had mentally predicted began.

'But… but I thought your scar only hurts when You-Know-Who's around?' Ron demanded. 'I mean – he can't be _at_ the school, can he? How? But then, I've always wondered about Snape –'

' _Don't_ start up with that again, Ron!' Hermione snapped.

'Hermione, Harry's scar has only hurt when You-Know-Who _was around_!' Ron growled. 'What if he's getting someone to help him? We know he's done it before… You've only got to look at the way Snape slimes up to Malfoy to know he's in with the rest of them. And my dad says Lucius Malfoy –'

'Ron – Professor Snape was trying to _stop_ Quirrell, don't you remember?'

'Keep it down,' Harry hissed, with a furtive glance at the door. 'And no, he hasn't been at the school. I've just said, haven't I? Dumbledore reckons he's in Britain though…'

Hermione gave him a nervous glance. Ron eyed the window, as though wildly wondering whether Voldemort might be strolling up the garden path.

'But what does Dumbledore think, Harry?' Hermione whispered. 'Why does he say your having these dreams?'

'Can't he just _stop_ them?' added Ron. 'Especially if their making you ill, mate.'

Harry sighed. 'He can't stop them entirely, no. But he's been teaching me Occlumency…'

He told them about their lessons – what he could, anyway. And the oddity of the connection itself, that Dumbledore had never been able to fully explain… how he saw through Voldemort's eyes; watched Voldemort's worst acts of evil.

'It _has_ been getting better,' he insisted at their frowns. 'I'm not great shakes at Occlumency, but I'm learning. I don't see as much as I did before… the details are hazier. Dumbledore reckons I might be able to stop them entirely if I can get better at Occluding.'

' _If_ Voldemort doesn't come back to power,' Ron pointed out shrewdly. 'You said Dumbledore thinks you're getting these… things… because he's gaining power again, right? So – what happens when he _really_ comes back?'

Harry swallowed nervously. 'I suppose I'll have to master Occlumency before then.'

But he didn't tell Ron what was _really_ making him nervous. He could hear both Dumbledore and Snape's warnings ring in his mind. Yes, a more powerful Voldemort might mean more vivid or painful visions; but it could also mean that Voldemort would learn of the connection. And that could mean much worse than a few hours' illness.

And what would he see, were that to happen? Three people had died already, and Voldemort was hardly more than shadow. What horrors would he inflict if he were returned to full strength? Would Dumbledore be able to stop him?

Hermione was watching him closely. 'You know you do have to, don't you, Harry?' she asked, very quietly. 'You _must_ work on Occlumency.'

Harry turned to her in confusion. 'What do you mean? I know – I've just said, haven't I?'

She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. 'I… you sometimes…' she sighed. 'Never mind. Of course you know. I'll help you, if you want.'

He was quite certain that was not what she intended to say, but he gave a half-smile. 'Thanks… though I'm not sure there's much you can do. I'm just about rubbish at the moment. Snape got through in about three seconds.'

Ron frowned. 'But you weren't trying to keep him out then.'

'Not in Edinburgh…' Harry clarified slowly.

A part of him wished he had not spoken – had kept that particular night to himself. But telling Ron and Hermione about Voldemort; about Occlumency; about the visions… it had been like drawing poison from his system. Harry had not even realised how badly keeping this information within had weighed on him until he began to relieve the burden.

Now, he found he wanted it all taken from him. Having Albus or Minerva was one thing – but they were not his equals; were not his friends. And having Ron and Hermione _here_ – not cowering in terror from him, or writing him off as mad, or refusing to hear what was only a stream of unpleasantness – was worth more than he could put into words.

So he told them about Snape too.

'That was really awful of him,' said Hermione. ' _Really_ awful, Harry. I'm surprised Dumbledore –'

'Dumbledore ought to have chucked him out of the castle,' Ron growled.

'He was furious,' Harry said. 'Minerva too. But Dumbledore – I've never seen him like that. He was so… scary. Snape was right cowed, and you know what he's like.'

Hermione tried to exchange a glance with Ron, but the latter appeared too busy grinding his teeth to notice. 'We've seen him like that,' she confided, dropping her voice. 'That's what it was like at the Quidditch pitch – the day those Dementors showed up and you fell off your broom.'

Harry did not have a chance to reply – for Ron had managed to unclench his jaw. And his focus was clearly still on the Potions Master.

'That's why he gave you that necklace?' he asked, looking disgusted. 'As some sort of bribe?'

'It wasn't a bribe, Ron,' Hermione mollified, though she too looked scandalised. 'I think it was his way of… you know, saying he was sorry.'

'He can't just _apologise_ for mind-raping Harry!' Ron bellowed.

' _Ron!_ '

But Ron would not be shouted down. 'No, Hermione, that's what it is! You don't understand. I looked it all up – after that rubbish he pulled in Edinburgh last summer.'

' _You_ looked something up?' Harry mocked in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood.

But Ron ignored the snide comment. 'Reading the surface of someone's thoughts is one thing; it's not encouraged, but they don't come down hard on you. There've been natural Legilimens that can't help it – empaths, you know. But forcing yourself into someone's mind… that's dark magic, that is. It's dangerous. And it's illegal. The Ministry'd chuck Snape in Azkaban for less.'

Hermione worried her lip again. 'I doubt Professor Snape meant it like that. But he still shouldn't have –'

'Well I wasn't chuffed about it,' Harry said darkly. 'And I haven't really got over it but… it's an odd thing, being at the castle over the summer. And these dreams, and all of it. Things get a bit… blurred, I suppose.'

'What the bloody hell is that –'

The door crashed open, and Harry and Hermione both jumped.

Ginny was crouched in the frame, a Muggle hairpin in her hand. Her face went nearly as scarlet as her hair.

'Sorry, but I've been knocking a good three minutes. Mum's going a bit mental…'

'Right – we're coming,' Harry promised.

'Harry –'

'Later,' he hissed to Hermione over his shoulder.

And he led the others in a scramble from the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Though his namesake and sole heir was one of Severus' brightest pupils, Theodore Nott Snr was not a man in Severus' social stratosphere.

Nott was a roundish wizard with flabby jowls and a thin voice. Stooped and slowed with a spinal injury rumoured to have been inflicted by Dumbledore himself, Nott did not present as a particular threat to the casual observer. But this impression could not have been farther from the truth.

Nott was an institution, in the circles that mattered. He was the patriarch of a pureblood family some claimed predated the Norman Conquest. He was nearly as well connected in society and the Ministry as Lucius Malfoy himself. And he was, most importantly, the sole remaining member of the Original Nine – the only one to escape death or imprisonment at the end of the wizarding war. Though even the Death Eaters themselves were not all privy to the identities of all their brethren, nearly everyone had known of Nott. How he had managed to avoid Azkaban was as much a mystery as what plagued his gait; but Severus suspected the ample family gold had some part to play.

The Death Eaters had always afforded the highest respect to those who had served their lord most faithfully. And Nott, bar none still living, had certainly served the longest.

This man had known the Dark Lord before there had _been_ the Dark Lord. They had been educated together at Hogwarts – or so the rumours said. When the Dark Lord had been naught but whispers and speculation on the fringes of the magical community, Nott had been in his service. He had travelled with him; fought for him; killed for him. He had given decades of his life, put off the start of his family, delayed any semblance of a career – all in service to the Dark Lord.

Though Bellatrix, Dolohov and possibly Lucius himself eventually earned higher favour in the Dark Lord's graces over the years, Nott was still seen as a weathervane among many of his followers. And many had not sought the Dark Lord after Godric's Hollow because Nott himself – who knew their lord longer and better than perhaps any other could ever hope to; who would surely know, if their lord were not lost to them – had not.

A slight for which Severus was certain Nott would pay dearly… whether his master sought his aide to return or not.

Lucius Malfoy raised the glass a bobbing House-elf had just handed him. 'It is good of you to have us, Theodore.'

Severus took his own goblet from the stooped little elf. The creature had traded the obsequious bow he'd given Mr Malfoy for a mistrustful leer.

'You know you are always welcome, Lucius my old friend. However infrequent your visits have become in recent years.'

He gestured towards several ornate chairs grouped in front of a massive, green marbled hearth, cold and barren this evening. Lucius sat himself to the left of their host and Severus took the chair directly opposite.

'If only our schedules more frequently aligned, my dear friend. Your company is second to none.'

Nott smirked. 'Always so refined, Lucius. Yet somehow I cannot imagine you have called to enquire after my health and happiness. And you, Snape? Have you come merely to discuss my son's academic interests?'

Severus smiled politely. 'On the contrary, Mr Nott. Your son continues to perform his studies admirably. He remains near the top of the class.'

'Above or below Lucius' heir?'

Severus caught Lucius' sideways glance, but he kept his benign expression. 'They are both of them uniquely talented. I could not choose.'

'Come now, Snape,' Nott cajoled. 'We all know two cannot stand together in highest grace.'

Severus inclined his head. 'We do not mark on the O.W.L. scale at their age,' he reminded him. 'But under the present schema, I believe your son holds the advantage in Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures and Charms, while Draco has been marked slightly higher in Herbology, Arithmancy and in my own lessons. Professor Sinistra does not believe in class rank before O.W.L. year, and their Defence Against the Dark Arts training has been too sporadic to generate meaningful result.'

Nott scowled. 'I have written to the board on that score. An idiot and a werewolf these past two years – and from all accounts, incompetence the term before. If Dumbledore cannot suitably fill the post…'

Lucius raised his glass. 'I quite agree. But tell Theodore, Severus, who has been _first_ in the class these past three years.'

'Ms Hermione Granger,' Severus supplied.

'I've never heard of her.'

'Naturally you have not,' Lucius said delicately, swirling his wine. 'A girl of no magical blood.'

Nott sneered. 'A Muggle-born?' He tossed Severus a filthy look.

'Indeed,' Lucius said with a sigh. 'A great pity… for we all had hoped such filth would be excluded from Hogwarts by this point, did we not?'

Nott stared hard at him.

'We had indeed, old friend. But not all such grand visions may come to pass in the manner we had dreamed.'

'Perhaps,' said Lucius. He had set his goblet to one side, and now fingered the handle of his wand almost idly. 'But then, perhaps, not all dreams are as entirely faded as once they did appear.'

Nott's eyes narrowed. Without turning, he waved his wand at the long windows. Thick curtains pulled themselves shut against the moonlight.

'Gunstling.'

The stooped elf appeared at his feet.

'Where is my son?'

'Still at the shops with the Mistress,' the servant squeaked. 'She sent an owl that they'll be dining in London tonight.'

Nott nodded. 'Another Bordeaux, and then leave us.'

The elf summoned a dusty bottle. He floated it to the table between them, gave a low bow, and disapparated with a crack. Nott pointed his wand at the stopper. The bottle poured itself over each of their goblets in turn, its wine thicker and deeper than Severus was used to. He could not help but think it looked rather like blood pooling in the crystal.

Nott took a deep swallow before he spoke again, and his lips were stained with it.

'Let us say, for the moment, that you are correct, Lucius. These are dangerous sentiments to voice aloud.'

Malfoy smirked. 'Not in the present company,' he disagreed. 'And perhaps not for long. You cannot have missed the signs.'

Nott gave a short, hollow laugh. He sat back in his chair, rubbing one index finger across his chin. 'Such arrogance has always become you, Lucius. And yet, do I detect a hint of panic under such bravado?'

'Never,' Lucius lied smoothly. 'Merely enthusiasm, my friend.'

'Enthusiasm…' Nott repeated doubtfully. 'Are you certain? You believe the Dark Lord shall forgive so easily then?'

'If he does not forgive those of us who lost faith at his downfall, he will have no loyal followers outside Azkaban,' Severus pointed out, speaking for the first time. 'I very much doubt it shall be a – ah – pleasant road back into his good graces…'

'It shall not,' Nott agreed, with another blood-stained smirk. 'Especially for those of us who kept company with the enemy whilst our Lord has languished in ignominy. How do you imagine you shall fair, _professor_? You who live at Dumbledore's side; you who assist in the training of his mortal enemy?'

'Severus was stationed at the school on the Dark Lord's orders,' Lucius reminded their host.

'Was he now?' Nott challenged. 'And how many years have lapsed since then, Lucius? Yet there he remains – alive and free and unencumbered. How do you suppose that shall appear to our Lord, should he rise again?'

'It shall appear as it is,' Severus answered for himself. 'That I have been loyal, and useful.'

Nott gave another of his derisive laughs. 'Do not pretend, Severus. You believed him finished, just as we all did. You did not spy for a ghost.'

'Certainly I did not,' Severus agreed. 'I kept the position because it has been a comfortable one, and it has kept me out of Azkaban. But I am no different from Lucius or from you, Mr Nott. I too have waited these long years for our next moment. I do not forget the old ways. And should the Dark Lord truly have found a way to return to us – I shall have twelve years of information on Dumbledore _and_ Harry Potter to give him.'

Nott frowned, but did not challenge the declaration. He turned instead back to Lucius. 'And you, Lucius? What have you to offer?'

'My services, as always,' Lucius said, inclining his head. 'My allegiance and my connections; my gold, should it be needed.'

'And your son?' Nott asked, more intently still. 'For that is what _we_ have done for the past twelve years, is it not? Raised children with the true values. Is there no part of you, Lucius, that fears the Dark Lord's retribution for his abandonment? Are you prepared to pay the price he may ask?'

Lucius' face paled, ever so slightly. He recovered nearly at once, waving a would-be casual hand through the air. 'The Dark Lord values pure blood above all, Theodore. Through him, our children shall come of age with a new world order.'

'For one who served so long, you understand him little, Lucius,' Nott excoriated.

'Few understand him as well as yourself,' said Severus with a short nod. 'Which is why we've called tonight.'

Nott raised an eyebrow. At Severus' glance, Lucius pulled back his left sleeve. Even from three feet away, Severus could see the Dark Mark plainly now – pink against Malfoy's white forearm.

Lucius raised the arm not towards their host, but to face himself. He fingered it gently, face a perfect mask. 'Darker and darker it grows with each day. We all know what it must mean. We know it shall be mere months; weeks; perhaps even days before the Summons. That which we thought impossible for more than a decade is now all but certainty.'

'And the only act more dangerous than to answer His call would be to refuse it,' Severus added. 'A fool's choice. You, Mr Nott, are no fool.'

Nott rubbed his own forearm. 'Indeed.'

Severus laced his fingers. His own goblet lay largely untouched on the table. 'Though you sneer at my position, it has had its uses. Albus Dumbledore trusts me completely – and he has shared intelligence that may give us some advantage. The Dark Lord has existed through these past twelve years as mere shadow, secluded in a forest on the Continent. Dumbledore has had spies nearabout the place… but the Dark Lord is there no longer. The headmaster believes he has returned to this country, and that he intends to rise again in Britain.'

'And why does Dumbledore place such trust in you, Snape?' Nott challenged. 'Have you not traded _our_ information to gain his ear?'

'I have given Dumbledore nothing that the Dark Lord did not himself instruct,' Severus demurred. 'But you forget of whom we speak. Albus Dumbledore has a great weakness for the penitent soul. He believes in second chances and redemption. I have never provided him an opportunity to doubt my allegiance. And in return, he has offered me his own.'

'The Dark Lord is clearly gathering strength,' said Malfoy. 'We have seen the proof. Dumbledore has told Severus he believes our Lord is aided by Peter Pettigrew.'

Nott scoffed again. 'Impossible. Never a part of the circle to my knowledge. And dead – twelve years hence.'

'No,' Severus said quietly. 'He is not dead. It was Pettigrew's information that sent the Dark Lord to Godric's Hollow… and he revealed himself, snivelling and hiding as an Animagus rat at Hogwarts this past June. It was he, not Black, who served as secret confidante. When he was unable to flee with the Potter boy, he stole away on his own to seek the Dark Lord.'

Their host was frowning deeply. 'I do not know of him…'

'A pathetic wizard and a poor servant,' Malfoy dismissed. 'The Dark Lord deserves better – needs better, should he wish to return. And that is why we have come to you, Nott.'

Nott stood, though the act looked painful, and began to pace his own hearthrug. His hunchback kept his profile in shadow. Severus wondered that in thirteen years of service, he had never asked Dumbledore whether the rumours were true.

'So… you have come seeking to prostrate yourselves at the Dark Lord's feet,' Nott whispered softly. 'If the Dark Lord has returned to Britain, the wisest shall immediately return to his side. You wish to curry favour.'

'We wish only to aid him,' Lucius corrected.

'Pettigrew alone is incapable of the magic,' Severus added. 'And his incompetence has already ruined the Dark Lord once. If the Dark Lord aims to return, he shall need stronger hands.'

'And yet this Pettigrew managed to outwit _you_ ,' Nott pointed out. 'You said yourself he had been at Hogwarts, Snape. The man whose information led our master to his destruction – and you allowed him to walk free…'

Severus grimaced. 'The situation was beyond my control. Had I had opportunity, I would have killed him.'

Nott paused, leaning his hands against the mantel and staring into the cold grate below.

'The Dark Lord has not sought my assistance,' he said softly. 'Nor, clearly, your own. If you seek to curtail his vengeance, you shall need to look elsewhere.'

Malfoy and Severus exchanged a glance.

'Very well,' said Lucius after a moment. 'But know that should he come, Theodore, we are ready to return.'

'Aren't we all, Lucius? So eager to serve. To look upon His face once more. Perhaps it shall be as if the past twelve years were naught but a dream.'

He clapped his hands, and the little elf appeared again to clear.

'Good evening, gentlemen.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next few days in Shell Cottage were miserable for both its occupants. Sirius, plagued with the high fever and unsightly rash that accompanied the Mackled Malaclaw's poisoning, spent most of the week-end tossing in bed, less rational than delirious. Remus plied him with potions and salves, but neither did much to alleviate the symptoms. A bit of sleeping potion did, however, aid both of them in a break from Sirius' moaning.

Remus remained worried. Not so much for the illness – for, though highly unpleasant, Malaclaw poisoning was not considered particularly dangerous – but for the unlucky timing. The moon would be full Sunday night.

A goblet of Wolfsbane appeared daily on an enchanted table in the kitchen. Remus took it religiously, every twenty-four hours to the minute. Never again would he allow himself to lapse after the near-disaster that had marred the end of term. Even so, he was in worse shape than usual, with so much of his waking time spent catering to his friend. And while the moon ruled the sky tonight, he would be useless.

He would have asked Albus or Minerva to come and sit with Sirius. But the Quidditch World Cup final was to be played the following evening and both, last he heard, planned to attend. He could not ask them to give up sleep the evening before to mind a pair of capable adults, when he knew full well Albus worried the match could bring trouble enough on its own. Madam Pomfrey, he supposed, could have been asked. But she had told him on their last visit to the castle of plans to go abroad for the fortnight before the staff were due at the school. He could not bring himself to call her back, without some dire need.

Remus told himself the sense of dread was naught but natural nerves. After all, he had been diligent. Sirius was in no shape for reckless abandon in the moonlight. He would curl quietly in his room, or perhaps on the floor of Sirius', and wait out the night in peace – as he had done so many moons before.

He watched it rise from his bedroom window. The transformation was no less painful for the potion's ingestion. If anything, retaining his human senses only heightened the acute awareness of each tearing muscle; every bending bone. He howled his way through the agony.

When at last it ended, his view out the bay window had shifted. The moon seemed much higher for his four-legged angle; yet the sea was no longer a vast expanse of shimmering black. Remus could see much farther now. Several miles off, a fishing boat trawled in the starlight. Faint mists marked a pod of porpoises, or perhaps whales, far off to his right. A red fox slunk through the sea grass high on the bluff. He could hear it rustle away. And out of view, something larger – thumping against the wooden staircase to the sea.

Remus froze, ears perked high. _Nothing_ should be sounding on their staircase. No wizard would have access, save for Dumbledore, Minerva or Severus… and animals could scent his presence. It would be against their very instinct to approach. Unless…

And it all came to him, in a moment of devastating clarity. In his mind, he saw Professor Kettleburn – thick dragon-hide glove pulled up to his elbow as he dangled the Mackled Malaclaw before his students.

 _'The Malaclaw is a spiteful beast. All those who suffer its bite will find themselves unlucky the whole of the following week.'_

 _No._

He tore from the room, fumbling to open the latched door with inept claws and cursing himself for closing it. With a sinking heart, he nosed his way into Sirius' bedroom.

The bed was empty.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dumbledore had promised a late supper, and Severus was grateful as he crossed into the Hogwarts grounds. The visit with Theodore Nott had made him anxious. He was not at all certain that the evening had been wise. And, more importantly, it had been fruitless. Nott had not been lying. As yet, the Dark Lord had not sought his assistance… and Severus was not at all confidant that he would be called upon, should that change in future.

Most importantly, he had played his best hand for nothing. The Dark Lord was not with Theodore Nott, and Severus could hardly peddle door to door with his feigned enthusiasm. One discreet visit to a well-known confidante of the Dark Lord was one thing. Several, however, began to look like a hunt undertaken at Dumbledore's command. If the Dark Lord had chosen a less worthy companion, Severus would have to think again on a way to discover it. Perhaps Lucius would have less quarrel with indiscretion.

Severus pushed trough the great oak doors of the castle, mulling over his dilemma and wondering whether Albus would have a better suggestion. His stomach growled. Nott had not offered them any sustenance; and Severus had hardly even tasted the wine. But he stopped short on the threshold of the Great Hall – appetite vanished by the sight that greeted him.

He could have killed Albus for his convenient omission.

'Ah, Severus. Please, have a seat.'

Albus' eyes twinkled in welcome, but the unpleasant figure to the headmaster's left gave a grunt that spoke plainly of derision. Severus seethed. His own lip curled in blatant contempt as Moody leered over the brim of his tankard.

'Thank you, headmaster.'

He took the chair to Dumbledore's immediate right – Minerva's usual place. He would not test his friable nerves with a place by the ex-Auror's side, and he gambled that her absence from the grouping and his own late arrival meant the Deputy Headmistress was dining outside the castle tonight.

'I'm afraid it is just our small party, this evening,' Albus informed him, as though he had spoken the thought aloud. 'Minerva is visiting friends.'

Severus nodded curtly. He reached for the wine and poured a generous measure.

'Haven't got much of a social calendar yourself, have you boy?' Moody growled in his direction.

Severus' fingers whitened on the glass, but he kept his tone level. 'I am no boy, Moody. And I assure you my diary need be no concern of yours.'

Moody grunted again. 'I expect everyone's timetable will be a _concern_ of mine, sooner or later. Old habits die hard, Snape, as I'm sure you've found...'

'And _I_ expect the headmaster did not bring you to this castle that he might pay you to intrude upon the personal lives of his staff.'

'Who says he'll be paying me for it?' Moody countered with mock affront. 'That I'll put in out of the goodness of my –'

'Thank you, Alastor,' Albus cut in with mild finality.

Severus glared.

A roast chicken dinner appeared before them. Moody snatched a drumstick and began to gnaw it with his mismatched teeth. Severus nearly refused his own portion in disgust.

'You have news?' Albus asked him, selecting several slices.

'I do, though not welcome tidings,' Severus answered carefully. 'Our call was not particularly productive. A wasted effort, by any measure.'

'On the contrary, my dear boy,' Albus disagreed, now doling out jacket potatoes. 'We now know what is not – and that in itself is valuable.'

Severus scowled. 'We have different notions of the phrase. But I would discuss it further after dinner.'

The headmaster nodded. 'Quite so. I have promised Alastor an audience, but I dare say we might conference after, if you are not too tired.'

'Very well,' Severus agreed. He reached for the bottle again.

'You like your drink too, I see,' Moody remarked, flicking his chicken bone away and choosing another piece.

'I enjoy a decent wine,' Severus corrected. He gave Moody's ale a pointed smirk.

'I am surprised. I would have thought with your – ah – family history…'

' _Alastor_ , really –'

'And _I_ am surprised that you forgo your penchant for your own brew,' Severus retorted, nearly cracking the glass in his rising fury as he jerked his head at the tankard in Moody's hand. 'After all, Moody, you sit at table with an enemy who has been both Death Eater and Potioneer. Surely your paranoia could not have faltered at such an opportune moment for murder.'

'Enough, the both of you,' Albus insisted. 'We have war enough to concern ourselves with at the present.'

But Severus could stand it no longer. Leaving his supper half-eaten, he pushed back from the table. 'I believe I shall retire for the moment,' he said icily. 'I find I am rather tired after all. Albus – you may call for me when convenient.'

The headmaster did not attempt to force him to stay. Instead he sighed, and gave a weary sort of nod. Severus swept for the door, Moody's derisive chuckling accompanying his steps. Just at the threshold he paused.

' _Accio_!'

The bottle of fine wine zoomed off the table, a bit of its swill splashing out at a perfect angle as it zoomed towards him. Severus caught it neatly. He smiled.

'Goodnight then, Professor Moody.'

And he left, Alastor's dripping red face staring him from the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Remus howled again, fury and panic on the rise. He made it to the ground floor in four huge bounds, knocking over a valence as he skittered around the corner. The ornate vase it held shattered on the floor. Several pieces of porcelain caught in his paws, but Remus ignored their bite.

The door to the veranda swung open, waving lazily in the balmy air. He shot through it and down the rickety staircase.

It was harder at the bottom. He knew to be out of Remus' keen sight already, Sirius must be transformed. Yet it was impossible to track his pawprints in the shifting sand. He sniffed the air and at the ground, but the salt of the ocean and the scents of its many creatures confused even his practised nose. At last, however, Remus thought he caught just a trace headed right.

He set off, moving as fast as he could without losing the scent. The tiny pebbles irritated his nostrils, but Remus kept his snout pressed to the sand, unwilling to tempt the Malaclaw's curse.

He travelled far. Much farther than was possibly within the boundaries of their sheltered haven. The shore lost its sand and became uneven rock. The change was so abrupt, Remus wondered whether Dumbledore had not enchanted his own property for comfort. More than once, he was forced to backtrack to be sure the trail had not diverted towards one of the rare passages through the bluffs. At times, though the tide was low, there was no beach at all, and Remus paddled through the crashing sea to find a foothold again. Tossed and battered by the waves, he prayed each time that his feverish friend had not been overcome by the currents. Yet each time, somehow, he found the scent again.

After what seemed like hours, he rounded a jutted peninsula. The ruins of what appeared to have been a medieval fortification punctuated the skyline above him. The cliffs rose in sheer rock and mottled grass, completely insurmountable. The swim was his most difficult yet. Remus was drained when at last he rounded a final corner and found a small, sandy beach. To one side, he could see a winding set of uneven steps. He started toward them wearily, but had taken no more than two steps when the sound of his own name rang through the air.

'Remus!'

' _Remus! Remus! Remus!_ '

The hairs along his spine stood on end. The voice was unmistakeable; and unmistakeably human – echoing unnervingly in a continual call. He turned.

Sirius stood barely thirty feet from him, half-dressed and barefoot in the circular mouth of a gaping cavern. He grinned and waved stupidly at him.

'Remus, come and see!'

He growled, but Sirius paid no mind to his warning. He darted away into the abyss, laughter now pealing off the walls of the cave. Remus had no choice but to follow.

The cavern was deep, winding its way beneath the mass of land – under the fortification itself. Muffled wings of bats sounded above him, and electricity seemed to course through his fur as Remus followed his wayward friend.

'It's _his_ , Remus,' Sirius called gleefully from ahead of him. 'Just like the stories… don't you remember? My father brought us when we were small. Reg and I carved our initials with his wand – I bet I could still find them…'

 _His_ …

Merlin's, Remus realised with another jolt. This was Merlin's cavern.

His panic notched up again. He had never visited the caves before, but he knew the story well enough. Even the Muggles swarmed this place, believing from their own flawed folklore that Merlin had plucked Arthur from the sea at her mouth. Between their authorities and possible Ministry guards, there was every chance Remus and Sirius might be discovered if they lingered.

He growled again, lower this time, as he hurried to reach Sirius' side.

Again, he was ignored. They had wandered deep within the cavern by now, turning off the straightest path into a little side winding passage. Sirius knelt low at the far wall.

'Just here – see? Where's my wand…'

Remus butted his side pointedly with his head, pushing Sirius' hand from its path to his pocket. He could feel the boiling fever.

But Sirius was beyond sense. He shoved Remus' head away and yanked his wand free.

' _Lumos_! Ah – there, look!'

Excitedly, he brushed his fingers against the roughly hewn letters in the stone.

At almost the same moment, a second beam of light danced in the main passage. Whispered voices sounded from the entrance. Remus gave a low snarl. He knocked the wand further into the shadows and grabbed Sirius' pyjama trousers between his teeth, careful not to bite his skin.

But there was no stopping the man's audible protests as he was dragged away.

'Hang on, Stu, you hear that?'

Sirius suddenly stilled on his own. Remus let go of his grip on his trousers and moved in front of him, shoving Sirius roughly against the cavern wall with his hindquarters. His heart pumping wildly in his chest, he took a slow breath.

Humans.

Muggles.

'Two,' came Sirius' whisper, more curious than frightened in his ear. 'I can hear four feet…'

Remus pressed him harder, until he was too winded for speech.

The Muggles came closer, talking excitedly. Their torch beamed brighter as they approached.

'I heard this place is haunted,' one hissed gleefully to the other. 'They say old Arthur roams the shore – waiting for the day he might return. The once and future king…'

His companion chuckled. ' _I_ hear it's Merlin himself,' he whispered conspiratorially. His words slurred slightly. 'That he's never died. He uses his sorcery to keep himself young; feeds on the bats that live here. And if you come into his home at night, he –'

Sirius gave a great roar of laughter that even Remus' girth could not curtail. The voices of the Muggle teenagers broke off, and the beam stilled.

 _Go…_ Remus prayed to himself in silence, nearly suffocating Sirius now. _Go back…_

'Who's there?' one demanded. Remus could hear fear behind the false bravery.

There was a beat of silence.

The other gave a nervous chuckle. 'Probably Rob, Stu. Maybe he snuck round the other side…'

His companion scoffed. The footsteps picked up again, and Remus braced himself.

'He's too pissed to get down that cliff. Come on, let's –'

'What the HELL?!'

The torch turned, and Remus was nearly blinded by its beam. He snarled instinctually.

One of the boys screamed. 'Wolf!'

The other steadied him with one hand, drawing a knife from his pocket. 'Don't move,' he hissed to the first boy. 'I read they'll attack if you turn your back.'

Remus stared him down, growling low in his chest. He did not move.

'What do you suggest we do, then, genius? What is a fucking _wolf_ even _doing_ –'

'Maybe it's just a big dog…'

Sirius managed another laugh. Remus fought the urge to kill him.

'Hang on!'

The braver of the two boys took one step closer, his eyes widening. 'Chaz – there's a man –'

'Get away, Stu!' the other shouted, pulling him back again. His face had gone panicked. 'I – I recognise that bloke. He's the one from the telly last summer – the madman they said had –'

There was nothing for it now. In a flash, Remus leapt from his crouch in the corner and slammed into the talking boy. The teenager fell backwards, striking his head hard on a jagged rock. His torch flickered a moment, then died.

His companion shrieked in horror and – rather than help his friend and forgetting his little knife – turned tail and fled. His screams echoed off the cavernous walls as he ran, multiplying and magnifying eerily.

The boy Remus had thrown lay unmoving. Blood pooled beneath his brow. His neck was turned uncomfortably far, and for a moment Remus feared he had killed him.

His instincts began to war within him, the lifeforce seeping from the crumpled boy acting the flag before a bull. Wolfsbane allowed him to keep his human senses… but the Beast was not dispelled. Without conscious thought, he crept toward the fresh blood. The insentient boy was easy prey; fresh meat. He might not even stir…

'Remus – NO!'

A hand balled in the fur of his back, yanking him hard from his stalk. Automatically he turned with a snarl, fangs bared.

Sirius jumped out of range, his green-tinged face paling. He overbalanced on unsteady legs, fell, and scrabbled backwards from his closest friend like a skittish crab.

It was just enough to pull the human from the werewolf's clutches. Like the lifting of a veil, Remus saw the scene before him as it truly was: an innocent, bleeding on the cavern floor. Merlin's sacred lair tinged with blood sacrifice. In the distance, unmistakable to the wolf's hearing, the nearing voices of angry men…

And Sirius – crouched and ill on the floor. In his human form.

Desperately, he growled at his companion – the message clear as a shout. Even as a human, even muddled with fever, Sirius could not have missed it.

 _'Run. Sirius – RUN!'_

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Twenty-Three**

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for your review! :D So happy you enjoyed our mischievous-minded Sirius in Chapter 23. That scene was actually the first I ever wrote featuring the Sirius-Marley relationship, and I had been sitting on it for the better part of two years now

 **Guest** : Thank you so much for reviewing! So happy you enjoyed the update and I thank you very much for the kind words. Haha, and I am glad you enjoyed the Mrs Weasley comment – she had a few moments that I quite enjoyed writing in Chapter 23. I hope you'll like the new instalment as well!

 **Valkyrie-Sythe** : Thanks for reviewing! Oh, Snape… he does indeed have some, ah, _issues_. Very glad you liked the chapter, and yes – things are definitely working toward some serious explosion(s). I hope you'll like Chapter 24!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for the review! Haha, yes – the Weasley boys (and Ginny… and sometimes Harry) definitely test poor Molly's patience. As to men – I have no idea. I am married to a doctor, yet somehow every cold he manages to come down with is somehow definitely pneumonia. They're all the same… Sirius' present-day malady won't be pleasant; but it isn't actually the illness itself that will cause concern… You'll soon see. I hope you like Chapter 24!

 **Annagardner11** : Thanks for the review! Very glad you're enjoying Part III so much, and I hope you'll like this next chapter!

 **Guest** (second guest reviewer): Thanks for reviewing! Haha, glad the tension is palpable… and hopefully you enjoy the payoff this chapter.

 **Suspiciouspencil** : Thank you so much for the review and compliment. Very happy to hear you enjoy the writing, though personally I am _always_ finding flaw with it. Many times a chapter is delayed merely because I am a particularly picky editor, and I hate to publish unless I am completely satisfied with the way the chapter flows. In any case, I hope you like Chapter 24!


	25. Broken Dolls

**A/N:** A new chapter at last! And new year, new exciting happenings, and new goals… I would _like_ to get the next one out in the next fortnight. January is a bit of a lighter month for me as would happen, so I think this is potentially reasonable. Keep an eye out, and keep reviewing! There are two more chapters of the summer to go, I think – possibly three depending on how long the next turns out.

Thank you to all who have read, reviewed, messaged, etc throughout the course of this lengthening project. I truly appreciate all your support. Without further ado… I hope you all like 'Broken Dolls'!

As always…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

 **Broken Dolls**

The fever burned within him, and the wind whipped without. It was so bitterly cold in the water that he might have been wading through snowbanks. A wolf howled in the distance, but the shifting path before him was inky black and empty. The white orb of the moon fell in and out of cloud, flickering a feeble ray upon the world. Even she seemed keen to hide her face.

And in the darkness and ice, the salt air held other traces. Sweat, and blood, and something sweeter.

 _Pears and freesia… a warm hand upon his chest._

 _'They'll be more, Sirius. They'll be years more.'_

He was so wet.

The snarling still rang in his ears, as if the wolf was mere inches from him – though he knew he could no longer be in range. The howling had faded now.

Wet. Dark. The moon's beam along the sea had vanished – swallowed by thunderous clouds. The ocean was a cavernous void without it.

Why was he swimming in pyjamas? She had never liked pyjamas.

 _Perched on the counter in pink knickers and his overlong shirt, munching an apple with mischievous eyes and mussed hair that smelled of pears and freesia._

 _'Perv.'_

 _'Wear trousers next time, and I'll behave.'_

He was hot. No – no he wasn't.

He was cold. It was cold in the water. His fingers numbed until they fumbled to draw him forward, and the waves seemed to rise higher and rougher with his exhaustion. This had been a foolish way to go when land had been an option. Why was he bothering to –

Run.

That was it. He had to run. He had to go home. But home was…

 _'I'll go, Sirius. I'll do it.'_

 _He choked on the sob. 'You shouldn't… Jamie, you shouldn't. It should be me. They deserve… I have to –'_

 _Hands gripped his shoulders; hazel eyes boring into his own. 'They'll understand. Go home, Sirius. Go home to Lily; to Harry.'_

No…

 _Where she stood in the doorway, shifting the babe in her arms, her eyes full of compassion and sorrow and tears he did not deserve._

 _'I'm so sorry, Sirius.'_

 _Sorry… such an odd word. As if it had been even a fraction her fault. As if she bore any blame, for staying to protect her future as he had failed to protect his._

 _'It's not like I had a claim over her. Just because we were shagging?'_

NO!

Harry was not at home. Lily was not there. James was not there.

Home was in ruin and rubble. Just like she was.

Why was it so wet? Cold and biting against his limbs. Hot and sticky on his face.

 _'He struck her down, Albus, right in front of me. Blasted her full of holes… like she was nothing more than discarded rubbish. She died in pieces in my arms.'_

Sirius remembered the iron stench of blood in the air. It had been snowing that night – the kind of snow that would have been beautiful at New Year, if she and Sirius had been warm in the bay window of his London flat, sipping on guelder rose wine and entwined in one another. As it was, the falling white obscured their vision as great gusts of frigid wind battered the lot of them. Inside, the storm might have been romantic. But out, it had been nothing but an added danger they did not need.

And through the wintry gales she danced like a rogue sparrow. She duelled two at once; then three. Spinning and spelling and, when she caught his eye across the moor, singing in the New Year. He smiled as he locked wands with his own opponent. They had foiled this gang's attempt to burn the nearby Muggle village. It would be a glorious New Year indeed.

He had just joined her when the curse hit. Blasted from behind – the coward's strike. Her song had died on her lips as she swayed, manic laughter of her killer drowning Sirius' furious retaliation. The assailant had apparated away before the spell struck home… but Sirius was no longer watching. He caught her before she could hit the ground and eased her down. Beneath her, the snow melted in streams of scarlet.

 _'Siri–'_

 _'Shh… don't speak. Don't – I've got you. Vulnera Sanentur!'_

 _He ran his wand over her abdomen. The gaping flesh refused to knit._

 _'Vulnera Sanentur!'_

 _'Sirius –'_

 _'I'll get Lance. I'll get Dumbledore. DUMBLEDORE!'_

 _'There's nothing to be –'_

 _But he only shouted louder. 'LANCE! ALBUS!'_

 _'Hush, love, hush.'_

 _'You hush,' he growled._

 _She chuckled – and gagged, blood pooling at the corner of her mouth. He raised her gingerly as she started to cough, shouting for the headmaster again. But the battle was rage and chaos save for their fading bubble. Even James did not seem to hear him._

 _He wondered that their world could be so loud, when his seemed to turn on her whisper._

 _'It's too –'_

 _'Don't say it,' he spat viciously. He tried and failed to cast a charm again. He could feel the blood slowing under his hands. 'I've got you. Everything's going to be fine. DUMBLEDORE!'_

Agony. It was agony then, and agony here… drowning and crushing and cold. The sea offered no more shelter than the moors, or his tiny prison cell, or the abandoned fox den, or the snowy boughs of the great oak in the Forbidden Forest.

Why was he always in the cold?

His bare feet found succour in the rocky seabed and he stopped, panting. The cliffs were not so high here. He could see an almost-path, a dip in their impenetrable face. He took several halting steps, falling more than once below the crashing surface of angry waves. His hands bloodied on the sharp rocks as he caught his many trips, and he had given in to all fours by the time he managed the shore.

Freezing… shaking…

A piece of coral cut into his palm. Sirius hissed, tossing it angrily back towards the sea.

 _A dainty cup with a proper saucer… he'd bought it just for her. Blue and white. Pristine, but for the smear of coral lipstick along one side of the rim – the left half just a bit fuller than the right._

 _She'd left it on the table next to the bed. She'd leaned over to kiss his cheek, and she'd gone to meet her patrol, and he'd gone on with his newspaper until it was time to join Moody at the Ministry. Casual and easy. Like a habit. Like they would start every morning that way for the rest of their lives._

Stop. _Stop_! He was supposed to be running; he was not supposed to dwell in dreams.

But he could not run. He could not move. He felt his head smack the rocky sand before he could realise his failure, bits of it clouding his vision and his nose. He spat out a mouthful. The waves lapped at his toes, enticing him back to the waters he had barely escaped. Perhaps if he just rested a moment… just a minute's sleep. If time would just stop, for only a moment, then he could pick himself back up again. He could put her back together.

 _Her blue eyes had gone glassy, but they were not wet. His were, he knew. He could see the droplets falling into her hair, though he hardly remembered when the tears had started. She gasped and choked, but she did not scream. Even now, defiance ruled her._

 _'LANCE!' he tried again. His voice broke with the strain._

 _Something cold touched his hand where he had it pressed against the gruesome stain across her chest. He looked down automatically. She barely had the strength to keep her eyes open anymore, but her thin, cold fingers wrapped around his, squeezing them gently._

 _'Sirius… it's ok,' she whispered._

 _'It will be,' he vowed viciously. 'It will be, just hold on.'_

 _'It will be,' she repeated. 'Promise me, Sirius. Promise not to let it –'_

 _Across the battlefield of whirling colours, his desperate gaze finally made contact with another blue one. Dumbledore was almost a Quidditch pitch away, but Sirius knew he could read it all in that moment's glance. Before he could even shout again, he saw the headmaster dispatch his opponent and begin to twist on the spot._

 _'You see?' he said, almost giddy with relief. 'You see? Albus is –'_

 _But she was trembling in his arms, her grip on his fingers slackening. He grasped them harder still._

 _'No! No, no, no –'_

 _The headmaster appeared soundlessly beside him in the very moment she stilled._

His ankles were submerged now. On his upraised temple, he felt icy droplets begin to smack his skin. The sky had birthed its anger too. A flash of it illuminated the ominous crags before him, startling Sirius from his exhausted stupor.

He had to move. He had to _run_!

He curled his fingers into the damp sand, feeling it sting in his many grazes and catch beneath his nails. They were too long, again. Remus would scold him if he saw.

 _Run!_

With a monumental effort, he dragged himself shaking to his knees. It was so cold…

 _Sirius – RUN!_

Run… run…

He pulled one hand out of the sand and clawed an arm's length forward. He yanked the other, and repeated. Elbow over wrist. Knee over knee. He tried to focus on the blackened, lightning-struck cliffs, but they swam before him. The world about him appeared far less real than that which he both yearned for and feared. Even his eyes seemed to see a thousand years ago. The cliffs grew closer by agonising degree, but it was not their stone that loomed before him.

 _The black, deep-cut blouse; Christmas lights in her blonde curls as she leaned in that first night. Her bell-like laughter later, as she dropped her silky dressing gown and her legs wrapped round his waist. He could lift her so easily, like a doll…_

The rain fell harder. Wind whipped sodden sand against his cheeks, and whatever sight Sirius had managed to keep in the present blurred and faded. He rubbed a frustrated sleeve across his face.

Run… run… run…

He could not. He was frozen.

Pyjamas were a foolish choice. What had he been thinking, to leave barefoot and without a cloak in January? He needed furs…

FURS.

He was almost too tired to complete the change. But when he had, the difference was so acutely glorious that he nearly yelped in joy. He was not precisely warm, but his limbs no longer shook beneath him and the wind no longer seemed of ice. His four feet found purchase much easier than his flailing hands. Even his mind seemed to clear a fraction. Perhaps the dog was better able to withstand the fever that wracked his human form.

Run.

Run he did at long last. Not very fast, and not very well – but it was a mercy all the same. He stole in the darkness through the break in the cliff face, strong haunches lifting him along a path far too perilous for human travel. His mind began to feel foggy again as he clambered upwards, and he could hear his own panting through the rain.

Remus had said to run. He had to run. He just had to hold on a few more moments, a bit farther. Hold on – just hold on.

 _Albus crouched beside him, his hand resting over Sirius' on her broken chest. Though the snow beneath Sirius' feet had become a puddle of scarlet, the flow beneath his fingers had all but stopped._

 _Sirius shook her. Her eyes were closed, translucent lids with their absurdly long lashes making her look even more a doll. She could not be dead if her eyes were closed, Sirius thought, shaking her harder. Sirius had seen dozens of dead bodies by now. Some of them, he'd even made. Everyone else died with their eyes fixed and open._

 _'Wake her!' he growled, whipping so fast to face the headmaster that his hair smacked the older wizard in the ear. 'She was just here – she was just talking!'_

 _'Sirius…'_

 _'WAKE HER!'_

 _Albus' gaze was pitying. But he pushed Sirius gently off Marley's limp form and drew his wand. Sirius allowed himself to be moved, scrambling back on his elbows. The headmaster pointed his wand at her still chest. The spell was silent, but a bright white flash erupted from the wand tip, jolting her body like a bolt of lightning. Sirius blinked to clear the black spots from his vision, but she had not opened her eyes._

 _The headmaster cast the spell again. Again, her body jerked unnaturally off the snow. And again, it fell back motionless._

 _Albus turned, his eyes sparkling at the corners._

 _'Sirius – she is gone.'_

 _Sirius shook his head, crawling for her. 'She can't be… she can't be… she was just here…'_

 _He grasped her wrist, her fingers, her waist. He arched her up to him navel-first, as he had so many times before. But this time she did not come laughing, kissing at his neck. This time, she came cold and broken and bloodied. He held her tight all the same, letting her cold brow rest on his chest, where he had always liked it best; his face buried in a cascade of golden curls that still smelled of pears and freesia even in death._

 _Albus was speaking, but Sirius did not hear the words. Vaguely, he registered that the scene about them had calmed – the last of the figures in masks still standing had fled away into the night. There were several crumpled on the moor, their masks askew… but more crumpled figures, he thought, without masks at all._

 _They had won this fight. But they had lost._

 _A more familiar step approached from behind. He felt James kneel beside him – a firm hand grip his shoulder. When Sirius did not respond, a stubbly cheek rested against the crown of his head – meaningless words of comfort and emptiness he could not hear were offered to his ear._

 _Sirius just kept repeating his own to the broken figure in his arms._

 _'But I love you. I love you. I love you…'_

These were not the moors. Sea grass covered the rolling hills rather than heather. Rain fell in place of snow. This did not make sense… how could he have come here? Where was he to go?

 _'I love you. I love you. I love you…'_

Run….

He had to run. He had to keep running.

 _'They'll be more, Sirius. They'll be years more.'_

There were not.

There was only the run. Only the dance of death.

 _'I love you. I love you. I love you…'_

But ruined dolls full of holes did not speak. And dead things did not love back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Years later, Remus had no idea how he had ever got out of that cave alive.

Sirius turned tail at his growl and scarpered – tripping clumsily over his own feet as he headed out the opposite end of the cavern from whence had fled the frightened young man. Remus' best chance would have been to follow him, but he forced himself to stay put instead. Even with Remus' help, Sirius would be slow escaping through the sea. Remus did not know whether he would have the energy for the Animagus transformation again. And even if he did, they were a long way from safety.

To give Sirius his best chance, Remus would need to provide distraction.

The adrenalin and the heady scent of spilt blood permeating the cave heightened his already quivering senses. He snarled and began to stalk backwards and forwards, blocking the passage. He could hear the looming voices of an angry mob drawing nearer and nearer. The boys' friends, he presumed, or possibly Muggle authorities. It could not have been wizards, or they'd have come upon the scene already. But he knew he was dancing a perilous edge. The cavern of Merlin was sacred to Muggles and Wizards alike. Before long, the melee would surely draw the attention of his own kind.

They would bring much worse than knives. And they, unlike their mundane counterparts, would know precisely what sort of monster they had stumbled upon in this ancient den. He had grievously wounded a Muggle teenager, seemingly caught up in the bloodlust they so feared ruled his very nature. He would be lucky to avoid Azkaban. They might even kill him on sight.

Above the roar of the incoming crowd of men, Remus strained to catch some sound of his fleeing friend. He could not tell, through the din, whether Sirius had yet made the water.

 _Two minutes_ , he told himself, increasing the rate of his pace. Two more minutes was all he could give. Then he must go, or it could be both their skins.

There was a clatter at the beachfront. The mob of men had reached him. He had only a moment to stop his frantic stalking and brace himself, hackles raised and teeth bared.

'What I tell you, eh? What'd I say?'

The same sweaty-faced teenage boy from before had returned in the midst of the others, grabbing at the arm of an older, gruffer-looking man in uniform.

'It's a great, hairy wolf it is! And he's got Chaz! He's got Chaz! He might've killed –'

'He's breathing,' a gangly, slightly drunken young man cut in. 'Look – I can see him breathing.'

Two more uniformed men rushed up behind the crowd. There were ten now that Remus could count.

'Keep away from it!' the oldest, portliest man shouted out from the rear. 'Get back from the dog!'

'It's not a dog –'

A growl built low in Remus' chest.

'Keep away from that thing!' the man in charge shouted again, louder this time. 'MacGregor – have you brought it?'

The one in front withdrew something from a back pocket. His hand shook slightly as he took aim. Remus realised it was a pistol.

'Shoot 'em, shoot 'em!' one of the teenagers shrieked from behind.

'What about Chaz?! Someone phone 999!'

'Shoot it.'

'Shoot it!'

'SHOOT –'

Remus readied himself to move. He could have taken the man faster than he would be able to let the bullet fly. But, in this stony cavern, a ricochet could kill any of them. Even werewolves were not immune to a bullet through the heart.

So he watched the man's trigger finger.

' _MacGregor_!'

He had about three seconds' warning. The finger pulled, and Remus dove.

The shot flew over his right shoulder. An acrid stench told him it had grazed his fur. Unbidden, a snarl left him. The instinct to attack; to conquer; gained ground. His claws raked the earthen floor as he skidded and spun, saliva gathering at the corners of his jaws. He could almost taste the paunchy flesh…

 _BANG_!

The second shot sounded like canon fire in the hollow cave. Remus was not so quick, this time. He threw himself low, but the edge of the bullet ripped through his left hindquarters. He let out a howl of rage and pain.

 _CRACK!_

 _CRACK!_

Through the haze, Remus recognised the sounds. Fear truly gripped him. There was no mistaking Apparition…

His time was up.

'Move!'

' _Move_!'

He turned tail and bolted, pain searing through his leg with every bound as he tore towards the exit. In the fractional glance he got, he saw two figures in Auror robes behind the pile of men: a young woman he did not recognise; and the older, more familiar Dawlish. He thanked the heavens they were impeded by their place at the back of the mass, and prayed they would not Apparate again in the midst of Muggles and confusion.

Remus dove with no small relief into the sea, gritting his teeth against the howl that threatened his throat as salt water flushed through torn flesh. It mattered not, in the long term. The wound was Muggle-made and his body was strong; he would heal quickly enough.

Yet in this moment, he would surely leave a dangerous trail to follow. He could not afford it. He would have to hope the turbulent waves drowned his trace before the Ministry could follow.

Remus paddled hard, and far. He could not risk alighting to the shore, where he knew the Aurors would be searching. The wolf's body was well-suited to swimming. Remus knew true wolves sometimes swam for miles. Studies out of Canada spoke of entire colonies of island wolves subsisting on salmon and fallen whales. Yet werewolves, in their manic, beastly state of naturalness, were not fond of the water – devoid as it was of plentiful human prey. They were never hunted at sea, and Remus was banking on the Ministry's ignorance.

Though he could feel blood dripping from his leg, Remus did not fear the creatures of the ocean depths. His scent would ward off more than it would call. Werewolves were apex predators, and natural prey to nothing.

His heightened senses could still discern the shouting men he had left behind, even as he put distance between them. The shore vanished quickly – high, jagged cliffs plunging straight into the watery depths in its stead. Even could he have braved it, there was no sand to harbour him now. Nor – he reminded himself with a pang of fear – would there be for Sirius.

He did not think he had been followed, as the sounds of the angry mob finally dissipated. No wandlight flickered in the waves; no broomsticks whooshed above him. Perhaps they had been too caught up in subduing the Muggles to follow in time; or perhaps they'd thought he escaped up the cliff instead.

But that meant nothing. Sooner or later, they would realise their error. Sooner or later, they would call reinforcements to exhaust every path in the search.

Time was his greatest enemy.

Remus paddled harder; faster; farther. He could feel a faint lightness in his head – the beginnings of blood loss, most likely. With the werewolf resistance to mundane injury, he might have expected the wound to have begun healing by now if he were on land. But the water kept it open and dripping.

As if in answer to his very thoughts, Remus rounded a bend and a slim stretch of beach appeared before him. He made for it, looking about anxiously. He could not sense or smell approaching searchers. Deciding that he was near enough now to Shell Cottage's borders, he left the sea at last.

He shook the water from his fur and sniffed both the air and ground. He scented salt and seagrass; gull and dying fish; his own blood and the merest hint of a hare high up on the bluffs – but no trace of his wandering friend. Remus felt uneasy in his heart. Even with his head start, even if he had transformed, Sirius should not have been so far ahead that his trail could not be gleaned. Remus had been strong and fast through the waves – much more so than the fevered wizard could have managed. He ought to be nearly on him now.

He stretched his neck to check the place where the bullet had sliced him. It was still oozing steadily. He forced himself into a run before the stream could creep down his leg again and leave droplets on the sand. Remus' wariness grew like a weight in his chest, heavier and heavier as the shore became more familiar. The searing pain in his leg muted – though whether because the wound had started to heal now that he had left the sea or whether fear for Sirius had drowned it out, he was not sure.

He was nearly there when he heard what he had been dreading. Human ears would not have registered the faint rustle, but Remus knew there were broomsticks approaching. Aurors, most likely, or possibly reinforcements from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He picked up his stride – no longer caring whether the blood marked his path.

The rushing of incoming hunters grew louder. He could almost hear their voices now… closing in… nearly above him…

And then, quite suddenly, they were gone.

Remus dared to slow, panting, and chanced a glance behind.

Five figures on mounted broomstick were circling the beach some fifty yards away, their spells dancing on the sand. Tiny glimmers of light among the stones reflected back at them – and Remus knew they had found his own blood trail. Yet though he could see plainly a dark stain beneath his own paw, the glittering droplets seemed to end where the wizards had gathered in a huddle.

Remus looked up. He could have cried with relief as he recognised the pattern of the embankments. He had reached the borders of the cottage land at last.

He allowed his fear for Sirius a brief respite. He must have been more addled by the events in the cavern than he had thought. Sirius must have beat him to the cottage after all – he had not passed him on the journey.

Giddy with relief and exhaustion, he slumped at last to the sand and twisted to lick at the oozing wound while he watched the Ministry gathering downwind. It was an oddly triumphant moment – knowing they had eluded capture; knowing he was safe, though he could see his chasers a mere stone's throw away.

He could hear them too.

'– don't understand it,' a tall woman was musing. She and the others had dismounted on the beach, and she crouched at the last of the glowing droplets. 'This blood is fresh – he can't have just _vanished_.'

The others moved in and out of his view, muttering darkly. The ones that came closest vanished for a time – transported, Remus assumed, to the other side of the hidden property they could not detect.

'Nothing,' an older man growled in frustration, returning to the group. 'No trace whatsoever. He can't have Apparated?'

'Werewolves cannot apparate during a transformation,' piped up a wheezy little wizard.

'The cliffs are too high to mount,' said another woman doubtfully. 'Even a wolf –'

'Then he must have gone back to the water,' the tall one reasoned. Remus thought she must be the one in charge. 'Brett, Connelly – with me. The rest of you check he didn't double –'

She broke off as a sixth broomstick swung out of the sky. It was the young Auror from the cave. Her pink hair shone even in the steady rain that had started to fall, and she looked hardly past Hogwarts age. She stumbled on her dismount, slightly breathless.

'The Muggle boy woke,' she told them urgently. 'The one that wolf attacked. He identified the man the other one was on about – says it was Sirius Black.'

There were hisses and murmurings. One of the older men swore.

'The lad was knocked senseless,' the tall woman protested. 'He's meant to be in Europe, isn't he? What would Black want in Cornwall?'

'Haven't the foggiest, but the boy was certain,' the girl insisted. 'The both of them identified his photograph. Dawlish has already gone for Shacklebolt.'

'Do you think the wolf's in league with him?' one of the men asked.

The tall woman did not answer, but pointed her wand instead at the sky. A bright green flare erupted high above them.

Remus felt his unease – so recently pacified – heighten once more. He edged away from the Ministry lot, moving stealthily even though he knew he could not be heard. But before he could start his flight in earnest, a loud crack announced a new arrival.

'Shacklebolt,' the woman greeted tersely. 'Our information –'

'I have been briefed already, Alexandria,' he assured her. He bent low to the ground, examining the trail they had followed. His fingers glinted with shining blood as he raised them.

Then his gaze moved past her – and locked on Remus.

Remus had quite forgotten that Shacklebolt, alone of his Ministry comrades, would be perfectly able to see the scene in its entirety – though even he would not be able to pass the ward. His dark eyes narrowed, then widened, and his mouth fell slightly agape in shock.

Remus fixed his own stare on the Auror. Very slowly, he shook his head.

'Kingsley?'

The pink-haired woman approached him, frowning.

Kingsley seemed to shake himself. He stood and looked back at his companions. 'Search the sea for the wolf,' he commanded. 'And the cliffs. Tonks, come with me and join the search for Black.'

'Will they not be together?' the one called Alexandria queried.

Kingsley frowned. 'Unlikely. Whether they entered the cavern of Merlin together I do not know, but they certainly fled separately. And if Black has any sense remaining, he will have Apparated as soon as the Muggle boy raised an alarm. No doubt we are far too late for any success on that front.'

The others muttered darkly again, but Kingsley ignored them. 'Dawlish remains at Tintagel. We shall reconvene there in twenty minutes.'

The little group began to separate, flying off on their individual assignments. Kingsley lingered only long enough to give Remus a long look somewhere between reassurance and exasperation. Then he, too, vanished into the night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Fudge has sent a missive,' Minerva greeted him as Albus closed the door to his office.

She was still wearing her long travelling cloak, sitting cross-legged by the fire in Albus' usual chair. Her flared nostrils spoke of clear distaste – though whether her scowl was merely for the Minister for Magic or something had gone awry in her evening, Albus was unsure.

He gave a small smile. 'Indeed. I had thought he might – with the arrival of the Bulgarian delegation this afternoon. No doubt its tardiness could not be helped.'

She sniffed irritably. Albus twinkled as he took the letter, unsurprised to find the seal ajar. Though she would never invade his privacy where any other was concerned, Fudge had become, since the brazen acts of the previous term, a special case. As Albus had no secrets with the Minister, he found he did not particularly mind her curiosity.

'I don't understand why he must make _you_ bear the impropriety,' she huffed. 'For really – unless they dine at midnight in _Bulgaria_ , the invitation comes far too late for you to join them. No doubt the foreigners will think you slight them on purpose.'

Albus chuckled. 'No matter. I received a note from Oblonsk yesterday. Having assumed Cornelius would not wish to be upstaged in his own home, I sent my regrets several hours ago. Dobromir is a reasonable man. He will not begrudge my absence.'

Minerva's mouth remained thin, but she did not comment further. Albus took the sofa opposite.

'I must admit I thought you would be later yourself. Was your evening interrupted?'

'Not at all. But Griselda is not as young as once she was. She prefers to dine early these days.'

'Ah. Then it is a pity you did not join for a nightcap in the Great Hall. I do believe I could have used your interference.'

Minerva raised a brow. 'Interference? With what?'

Albus smirked a bit. 'I have a hunch we will be playing referee between Alastor and Severus much of the next year, my darling. And if tonight was any indication, it is likely to prove… ah, what is that phrase? A two-man job.'

She paused halfway through shrugging her cloak at last to snort. 'I could have predicted that,' she scoffed, floating the cloak to Albus' stand. 'Really, Albus…'

He sighed. 'It cannot be helped. Alastor's presence will be of great benefit this coming term. And Severus –'

'Will never be appeased,' she warned. 'You mark my words – they'll be at blows before midwinter.'

As if on cue and before Albus could retort, Severus' head appeared in the flames. He started a bit to see Minerva in the headmaster's usual chair.

'Perhaps at a later time, Albus?'

The headmaster gestured a welcome. 'No, come through, Severus. Now is as good a time as any.'

Severus gave Minerva another calculated glance, but pulled his head from the flames. A few moments later, he was brushing ash onto the pristine carpet. Albus stood and retrieved a bottle of wine, pouring a goblet for Minerva. He held a second aloft for the Potions Master, but Severus shook his head with a small grimace.

'I must be off early on the morrow.'

Albus frowned. 'Are you certain you would not rather attend the match? I can easily arrange –'

'No, thank you,' Severus declined shortly. 'I have little desire to watch. And the world's diverted attention means the markets in Luxembourg will be nearly empty. A most fortuitous time to go.'

Minerva huffed indignantly. 'If you're able to find an open shop. Who _shan't_ be minding the Quidditch –'

'Not all wizards are quite as deranged when it comes to sport,' Severus sniped.

She swelled at once. 'It was not _I_ who gave offence tonight, Severus,' Minerva said coolly. 'And you would do well to remember to whom you speak.'

Severus' mouth thinned and his eyes flashed dangerously. But after a moment, he gave a stiff nod. 'Of course, Minerva. I apologise.'

'If you will not take a drink, at least find a seat please, Severus,' Albus said, sinking back onto the sofa with his own goblet. 'You make me anxious when you start to pace.'

The professor's face made his unspoken protest clear, but he perched himself on the edge of the farthest chair. Albus smiled.

'And so, how did you find Theodore?'

'Unhelpful, on the whole,' said Severus curtly. 'He did not seem to know anything more than Lucius… and I rather doubt he will be keeping either of us informed if the situation should change.'

Albus stroked his beard. Minerva was looking between them curiously, but she did not voice her questions. 'Do you feel you have compromised your position?'

'No.'

The headmaster studied the set of his jaw with some concern. 'You are certain?'

'As certain as I can possibly be,' Severus said acerbically. 'But… I do not think it would be wise to press the matter. Nott is proud and suspicious by nature, and he is less confident in his position than he once was. He has more to gain through accusation than comradery.'

Albus sighed. 'Then perhaps we miscalculated to move so early.'

Severus jerked one shoulder. It was not quite a shrug – but rather as though he were throwing off an irksome fly. 'It was a long shot either way.'

A flare in the fireplace stifled Albus' reply. All three turned to look, Albus frowning. The flames flared green.

'It is the Ministry,' he said, standing from the sofa.

Severus glanced at the clock above the mantle. 'At this hour?' he demanded almost angrily.

Minerva touched his arm as Albus moved towards the hearth. 'It can't be Fudge – not if he's entertaining the Bulgarian delegation.'

Severus half-stood to leave, but Albus shook his head minutely. He pointed his wand at the emerald flames and muttered a charm. Kingsley Shacklebolt's head swam into view.

'I apologise for the interruption but Dumbledore – it is urgent that we speak.'

'The task I had set you?'

'Ah, no, headmaster. Not yet, I'm afraid. This concerns other matters… in Cornwall.' Kingsley shot a wary glance about the room.

Albus gave a benign smile. 'You may speak,' he assured him. 'There are no others.'

Kingsley nodded. 'Albus – there was an incident late this evening at Tintagel, in the cavern of Merlin. Two Muggle boys were involved in an attack – a werewolf attack, by all appearances. It seems Remus and –'

'He bit someone?' Severus hissed angrily. He had risen from the sofa, and Albus could see his fists were clenched at his sides. Albus reached out a hand to calm him, but Severus shrugged away from it, glaring down into the fire.

'No,' said Kingsley. 'One of the two boys was knocked to the ground. He was injured, but not bitten. The other went for help and raised the alarm among Muggle security. The Ministry –'

'Small wonder the Ministry did not arrive earlier,' Minerva cut in. 'The Cavern of Merlin –'

'Has many wards upon it,' Kingsley finished for her. 'But it is a common enough night's thrill for the local Muggle teenagers. The wards are set to alert Magical Law Enforcement if any spells are cast in the cavern after dark. None were.'

'Yet you _were_ alerted,' Severus pointed out.

'Only after the Muggles. We monitor their radio communications, of course. When one of our junior members picked up a transmission concerning a wolf in the cavern, Dawlish and Tonks were dispatched to investigate.'

'Is Remus alright?' asked Albus.

'I… believe so,' Kingsley said hesitantly. 'He managed to escape the cave in the ensuing ruckus. He was injured and the Aurors tracked him to the borders of your property.'

'Injured how?'

'A Muggle weapon, but not badly, I think. It did not hamper his speed. I arrived on the beach after he had crossed the warded boundary, and saw him safe on the other side.'

'Foolish man!' Minerva hissed. 'To leave Shell Cottage's safety – he could have been killed, or worse.'

But Albus, watching Kingsley's tense expression, had other concerns.

'And Sirius?' he pressed.

Kingsley grimaced. 'He was seen by the Muggle boys,' he admitted. Severus scoffed angrily, but Kingsley did not move his gaze from the headmaster's. 'I do not know the whole of it. Presumably he reached safety before Lupin – for he was no longer in the cave when the Aurors arrived. They are still combing the area for him; and I too must return.'

Albus nodded and stood. 'I can assist.'

Kingsley shook his head. 'Respectfully, headmaster – I would prefer that you did not. Fudge would not take kindly to your being informed before I have even sent word to him… and we both know that Black cannot be harmed within the safe haven of the cottage. The search is a mummer's farce, but I must play my part. I merely wished to update you on the situation… and suggest, if I may, that you speak to Lupin and Black on the morrow.'

'Most assuredly I shall,' Albus promised. 'I thank you for informing us.'

The Auror nodded. 'Then I best take my leave before I am missed. A good evening to you all.'

'And you, Kingsley.'

'The blundering fools!' Severus railed, the moment Kingsley's head had vanished.

Albus did not bother to quell the professor's rant this time. He was summoning his travelling cloak. Severus watched him catch it, and his lip curled in fury.

'You are not intending to _go_ to them, Albus?!'

'I must. Either might be injured, and Sirius –'

'Is a grown man, same as the wolf!' Severus spat. 'They know the risks should they leave their hiding place, and they breached your trust all the same! Reckless and arrogant as they have always been. And the werewolf…'

'By Kingsley's account, it does not seem Remus intended to bite another,' Minerva pointed out.

Severus was near apoplectic. 'And that makes it alright, does it? That the boy is not dead or turned? Half the Ministry will be descending on Cornwall this night, and yet you –' he spun again to glare at Albus – 'seek to coddle them in their beds!'

'Do not presume my intentions, Severus,' Albus rebuked softly. 'I am acutely aware of what could have occurred this night. But something in this tale does not sit right with me.'

The Potions Master sneered in disgust and swept for the door. 'Do as you will, headmaster. You always have done.'

'Severus!' Minerva called angrily after him. But he paid her no mind, slamming the oak door. She too had stood, and whirled with fire in her eyes. 'You should not allow such impertinence, Albus! He must learn to control his temper.'

Albus sighed heavily. 'Yes. But it has been tested on all fronts tonight. Let him be, Minerva. Perhaps a day or two away from the castle will serve him well.'

He made to fling the cloak about his shoulders, but she stayed him with a hand. Her expression softened. 'As infuriating as his tone may be, I agree with Severus,' she said quietly. 'Both Remus and Sirius are quite old enough to face their follies as men, and they can be in no danger of capture at the cottage. Speak to them tomorrow, Albus. You have had too long a day already.'

Albus hesitated. 'Something in this tale does not sit well with me,' he repeated.

She shook her head. 'Explanations can be given in the light of day. Come to bed, please.'

He floated the cloak away reluctantly, though he could not dispel the disquiet that had gripped him since Kingsley's arrival. 'I fear I shall not rest easy,' he warned her.

She smiled softly. 'It will be enough if you rest at all.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He felt he had barely drifted off when he was roughly awakened again.

This time, it was the grate in his own vast bedchamber that had flared – though this visitor need not seek admittance.

'Albus? Albus!'

Instantly alert, the headmaster sat bolt upright. Minerva shifted beside him. The first vestiges of dawn had barely begun to paint the window. Remus Lupin's head bobbed in the Floo, features drawn and eyes wide with panic. Upon seeing that Albus was awake, he rushed on before the headmaster could ask.

'Albus – Sirius is gone.'

The sinking feeling that had gripped him the previous night made itself known again. Albus shot out of the bed, summoning his dressing gown. Minerva – near as quick on the uptake – did the same on the opposite side.

'Speak,' he commanded as he tied the gown.

'I don't know – I don't understand it,' Remus rattled in a rush. 'He was ill tonight, he left the house. He didn't seem to understand what he was doing. I went after him and discovered him below Tintagel, in the cavern of Merlin –'

He broke off with a slight hiss, and Albus gave him a sharp look.

'Go back. We shall both come through.'

He waited for Remus' head to wink out of sight, and passed a tin of floo powder to Minerva first. Seconds later, they had both spun through the flames.

Remus was in the centre of the carpet, its cream almost grey in the light of a clouded, early dawn. The man's face was nearly the same hue and glistened with sweat. He was standing, but only just. His left hand clutched at a wound in his thigh, and the carpet was speckled with blood. It took no Legilimens to see that Remus had barely completed his transformation before flooing the headmaster.

He faltered, and Albus swooped forward to catch him under the arm. Minerva secured the other side, and they helped him gently to a chair.

'Sirius –'

'Take a breath, my boy,' Albus soothed. 'Sirius has not been captured, or I would have had word from Kingsley. Let me see your leg.'

Remus shook his head, though he allowed Minerva to move his hand and cut the fabric wider where the bleeding was worst. 'It's nothing – a glancing blow from a Muggle gun.'

'They _shot_ you?' Minerva asked, horrified.

'It will heal,' Remus said, gritting his teeth as she poked the edges of torn flesh. 'Muggle wound and it missed everything vital – you can spell it shut. I'd have done it myself, but…'

He downed the phial of Invigoration Draught Albus passed him with a shudder. Albus told him what they knew from Kingsley's call while he caught his breath, and then Remus picked up the tale.

'He was out of his mind with fever, Albus. A Malaclaw – he ate it accidentally. That's how we ended up in that cave; he rushed off while I was transforming and I had no choice but to follow. Two Muggle boys came before I could convince him to return. I jumped the one when I realised he knew who Sirius was. It was the only way,' he added, looking rueful.

Albus nodded his head in grave agreement. The Malaclaw concerned him more than the rest, but he dared not voice his worries until Remus had told him all.

Remus took a shaky breath. Minerva was pouring a disinfectant over the wound. 'I told Sirius to run, and I stayed behind to buy him time. I fled when the Aurors arrived. He could not have had much a head's start on me – perhaps five, ten minutes at most – and though I could not find his trail when I finally left the water, I did not pass him. I assumed he must have made the cottage before my arrival. The Ministry tracked me to the borders.'

'That is where Kingsley arrived,' Albus prompted. Minerva had tapped the gash now, and it sealed with only the faintest trace of pink. Remus tested the thigh muscle with a grateful nod. Over his shoulder, Albus and Minerva exchanged a significant look – and he knew she too scented the secondary danger.

'Yes. He was remarkably quick. I tarried a few minutes on the beach to recover myself, then returned to the house. It was then I realised… realised that Sirius was not here. I've been through the entire property a dozen times and found no fresh trace of him at all. I dared not leave again – with the Ministry combing the area. I would not be able to Apparate if they came upon me. I hoped perhaps Kingsley would appear again, but he did not. And I could not contact you until…'

He broke off, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. 'He _can't_ be captured, Albus! Not after –'

'And he shan't be,' Albus promised. He squeezed Remus' shoulder. 'I shall find him.'

'If you are not too late,' Remus muttered darkly.

Albus smiled. 'I doubt it, or for certain Fudge would have sounded his victory. Most likely, in his confusion, Sirius fled the island in the opposite direction. He may have transformed; which would be all to the better. Does he have his wand?'

Remus nodded. 'I believe so – it is not in his bedroom. Whether he still has it… Albus, you did not see him. He is half-deranged. It's my fault – mine… I should have called for someone last night; had him watched during the transformation. I did not think –'

Albus patted his shoulder again. 'Let us not place blame or fear the worst, Remus. Minerva – might I ask you to stay with him?'

'Of course,' she agreed primly, already beginning to tidy the blood from the room.

Remus protested. 'Albus, I must –'

'You are half-dead on your feet,' the headmaster said gently. 'You will be no use to Sirius or any search in this state. Rest and recover, my boy. And I shall bring news as soon as I can.'

He quit the room, Minerva's anxious face still watching him. He did not voice the concern aloud, but it plagued him as he crossed the threshold and strode quickly to a boundary from which he might Apparate. Remus, in his current exhaustion and pain, did not seem to have yet put the pieces together. But no doubt he would, and soon. And he would not be the only one.

Kingsley might have kept his silence… but Remus Lupin's status as a werewolf was not a secret beyond Ministry knowledge. Nor was his former friendship with Sirius Black. How long would it take before someone noted the connection? How soon would they seek Remus as assiduously as they did his companion – demand he appear and answer for his whereabouts at the moon? How soon would they face two outlaws to harbour?

Unless Albus could prevent it. Unless he could protect them.

It all must start with Sirius. And it was time to bring another into the secret.

He passed the border. In the distance, he could hear the rustle of broomsticks; the shouts of men. He could even feel a distinct, insipid chill… Fudge must have thought this the victory stretch – to send Dementors so soon after the disaster at Hogwarts.

He turned on the spot.

'Wednesday next!' Alastor grumbled in greeting, throwing the door open reluctantly to admit the headmaster. ' _Wednesday_ next we said, Albus. I'd like to enjoy my quiet redundancy but a few more –'

'Apologies my friend, but we have a situation,' Albus cut in. He barely waited for the door to latch. 'Ministry Aurors are converging on Cornwall near Tinworth. They hunt for Sirius Black.'

Moody let out a scathing grunt and kicked a heavy old trunk back into a corner.

'Almost certainly a false lead,' he dismissed. 'Shacklebolt keeps in touch. His last information was that Black had fled Britain to –'

'This time, their trail may prove true.'

'Then even Kingsley's band of oafs should be able to find him. I expect Fudge will welcome one victory on the eve of –'

'– my intelligence was that he's somewhat south of Tintagel, but if he's left the coast –'

'– hardly see where our assistance would be needed.'

'I do not know where Sirius has run to, but if we cannot find him first…'

Moody's mocking expression took on a more sinister leer. He ended the interrupting commentary and started to pace the front hall, rubbing his grizzled beard. His wooden leg plunked an odd rhythm in his uneven steps.

'A _vendetta_ , Albus… you should have said. Not like you, I must admit. But I cannot fault your intentions. And I suppose it was your ward he nearly killed two months ago.'

Albus looked sternly over the top of his half-moon spectacles. 'You misunderstand, Alastor. I have no desire for revenge. But I cannot allow Sirius to be captured by the Ministry. He is an innocent man.'

'What do you mean he –'

'He was wrongfully thrown into Azkaban for the crimes of another.'

Moody stopped his plonked pacing. His eyes narrowed, staring at the headmaster. Then his chest heaved with exasperation. 'Oh fuck, Dumbledore. Tell me you didn't.'

'I did not help him to escape,' Albus corrected quickly. 'But I am eternally grateful that he has. The full story is too much for this moment. But on whatever trust you have ever placed in me, my old friend, I _swear_ to you that he is innocent of the horrific crimes he has been accused.'

'Albus – What the _fuck_ did you do?'

'Those murders were the work of Peter Pettigrew.'

'Like Merlin's saggy –'

Albus pulled his watch from the folds of his robes. Already too much time had passed. He spun to face the incensed ex-Auror and gripped him hard by both shoulders. 'Alastor! There is precious little time. I shall explain everything in due course. But for the moment, I require assistance. May I rely on you once again, or not?'

Moody shrugged out from the grip and ground his teeth. Both magical and mortal eye remained fixed on the headmaster in identical glares.

Albus sighed. 'Alastor, please… he _cannot_ be captured.'

Moody growled, yanking his travelling cloak off its peg so hard that the wooden cylinder rolled and spun on the floor.

'You never change, old man,' he complained, snatching his walking stick and a low-brimmed hat from next to the door. 'Your meddling'll be the death of one of us – you mark my words.'

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Twenty-Four**

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thanks for reviewing! It's always so lovely to hear from you. And yes – Sirius is in deep, deep trouble. I feel somewhat guilty for my cliffhanger… but I hope you will like the follow-up in this chapter.

 **MotherBear** : Thank you for the review! Very happy you enjoyed the suspense of the last instalment, and I hope you will like Chapter 25!

 **BlueWater5** : Thanks for reviewing! And yes, I do think Moody would be _very_ interested to hear about Snape's dodgy actions towards Harry… I hope you'll like the new chapter!

 **Guest Reviewer** : Thanks so much for reviewing, and very happy you're liking the third book in this series! Ah, I am sorry to keep you waiting so long… but I hope you will enjoy Chapter 25!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thank you for reviewing! Sirius is in _big_ trouble – as you'll see even more in this next instalment. The Malaclaw has some interesting effects, and it's definitely the height of unlucky timing. I hope you like what comes next!

 **Alathenia** : Thanks for your review! Mmm… yes, Remus will definitely be having a bit of a rough go, poor dear. And Sirius even more so. But I do hope you'll like the next chapter, and I hope you've had a lovely holiday season!

 **Guest Reviewer** : Thanks for the review – and I love your letter to Father Christmas, haha. I am sorry you had to wait a bit longer than the 25th, but I hope you'll like the chapter!

 **Guest Reviewer** : Thanks for reviewing – and very happy you liked the bit with Snape, Moody and the wine in the last instalment. Hope you'll enjoy the continuation!

 **Kmke** : Thank you for the review! So happy to hear you have discovered the COH series, and thank you so much for your compliments. I hope you'll continue to enjoy – and especially hope that you will like Chapter 25!

 **Guest** : Wow – thank you so much for such a detailed and wonderful review! You raise some excellent points that I'd love to comment on, and others that I would _really_ love to comment on but cannot in order to preserve the story… but I shall do my best.

The discussion between Albus and Severus… yes, the scroll definitely has importance; but I cannot reveal its sender, unfortunately. You shall find out in time. Haha, I truly agree that Fawkes seems the most advantageous way of delivering quick messages, though I think the Patronus method can be altered if necessary (this may come up later, so I shan't divulge it now). It is too bad that wizarding mobiles do not seem an option. Is Albus playing dumb with Severus? Interesting, and perhaps. Certainly he is deliberately withholding information, though whether he suspects the Riddle House's involvement… we shall see shortly.

The Burrow… Apparition has come up already quite a bit in COH, of course, as except for Harry our POV characters are mainly adults. But the reason for the info dump in this particular chapter is multi-fold. More than that I fear I cannot say without revealing too much, but I think it shall be clearer in time. Aw, now it's _lovely_ that you're rather siding with Ron here! I have found fans are rather divided on Ron's character in canon – and not without reason. But here, at least, he _does_ have some excellent points, and shows maturity we do not always see. I too realise that COH – especially in the summer chapters, where the other children are not as present in the story – sometimes does not have these friendship moments for long stretches. It's always nice to have an opportunity to get back to that core trio and their relationship, and I really wanted to do that with this particular scene. Harry has so much reliance on Albus and Minerva (and other adults), especially in the summer, to discuss and solve his problems, that I miss Ron and Hermione at times. I always strive to make the story organic and not force such interactions, but it's so much easier to do that during the year. I hope this one felt right.

Interesting that you felt Hermione was about to nag and then did not. While I completely agree with your thoughts on that score, I would also hint (because it will resurface later), that Hermione was not _quite_ going for that when she diverted. What she left unsaid was something slightly different… and a bit more tragic.

Nott IS terrifying, and I am very glad that appears to have come through. It was also quite a deliberate choice to include Hermione's mention in his scene – and that will have implications down the line. I got a bit lucky that it worked out well, as Nott has a son in their year at Hogwarts – though I agree that it does rather enforce the seeming smallness of the wizarding community.

Ah, poor Severus. He has had a bit of a rough day. Moody _is_ vindictive here. Of course, Moody believes Snape should be in Azkaban. Or – and here we reach your other very interesting question – is it that Moody is vindictive because Snape is a Death Eater who walked free… for other reasons? The ale he drinks because it is Dumbledore's table and he trusts Albus; though, as Snape points out, it is not in his paranoid nature. I cannot answer as to whether Moody is in fact Moody – I do not wish to spoil the future.

And we reach Sirius and Remus. Poor, poor duo. They have had a rough few chapters and, I fear, shall have a rough next few as well. Good on you for noting the recurring story of Merlin – who has come up in all three COH novels for one thing or another. All I will say on that score (though I think I have given hints in some of my other review responses) is that Merlin's tale, Merlin's magic, Merlin's symbols and Merlin's teachings will _all_ matter in the end game of COH… and they are sometimes dropped in more subtly than others. As to the more immediate queries – I think some will find answers in Chapter 25, though I am _very_ impressed with some of your accurate musings, and your ability to note the timeline in terms of how this crisis may affect the greater story.

The World Cup will come in Chapter 26, and I do hope you'll enjoy it. As to your queries on FB2… the short answer is, it depends. Nagini I have been writing for some time now (I bought in to the theories that she was a woman way back, though I am glad they have been confirmed). I am too far into the story I have worked out for her to alter it if FB goes another way – although I am cautiously optimistic that much of it will fit. Dumbledore has always factored heavily in that tale. Some of the new revelations I may work in as it suits my story, but I have so much of COH planned out (and, frankly, so much of even the later stuff at least outlined, if not fully written), that I doubt I will change the story even if the FB world completely alters my predictions. It wouldn't be fair to the readers to change the story they have come to know. On the other hand, literally everything I had envisioned, written and published with respect to Grindelwald – with the possible exception of his eye colour (violet in my books… or at least in the present) – has so far been essentially in line with what FB ended up revealing. So who knows? Perhaps I'll continue to get lucky!

Thank you again for the wonderful comments, and I am very glad you are enjoying the story so much! I hope your holidays were lovely, and I very much hope you'll like Chapter 25!


	26. Le Cri de Coeur

**A/N:** My sincerest apologies everyone – I know I promised this chapter several weeks ago, and the worst bit of it is that it has been finished for nearly a month now. Unfortunately, the editing process took a bit longer. I have not been feeling well the past few weeks, but things are a bit better now and I am back to writing on the regular.

Much love to you all, and enjoy 'Le Cri de Coeur'.

As always…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 **Le Cri de Coeur**

The early morning had found them all tousle-haired and ornery leaving the Burrow. Cedric Diggory's presence at the portkey had not aided the mood. Harry had no strong feelings either way for Cedric… but Fred, George and Ron seemed to take his victory over Gryffindor the day the Dementors had swarmed the pitch as a personal insult. Harry himself began to feel distinctly hot about the ears as Amos Diggory re-opened the half-healed wound, though Cedric's own obvious discomfort assuaged the embarrassment somewhat.

By the time Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny returned to the Weasley campsite (having assisted in the set-up of their tents and then been sent to fetch water), however, Harry felt quite rejuvenated.

The World Cup was already like nothing he had ever experienced. Thousands of wizards from across the globe had packed in to watch the match – their many tents, some large as houses, stretching in all directions as far as he could see. The four of them had got purposely 'lost' on their way to locate water, engrossed in the spectacle. They met Seamus and Dean in the green-festooned Irish section, a friend of Ginny's whose name Harry immediately forgot tussling with her little sister over what seemed to be a pair of golden binoculars, and a dozen other Hogwarts students milling about the vast campsite. Harry had even come across a titillated Oliver Wood, who bounced on his feet as he introduced them to his much more reserved parents.

He had found Cho too, with Hermione's help in deciphering the map she had sent him. Harry felt unaccountably nervous as he shook hands with her kind-faced father and six-year-old brother. He had been rather hoping to meet her mother after all Cho had told him at the end of term, but Mr Chang had said she was ailing and would miss the match. Harry could not help but notice the pain in Cho's face as he said it, though she had looked quickly away toward the Irish hangings a few tents along.

'Er… where are you sat for the match?' he asked her, keenly aware of Hermione's eyes on his neck.

She smiled. 'Section eight, just about half-way up. You?'

'Top Box!' Ron interjected excitedly. 'Dead lucky this year – Dad managed to pull a few strings.'

'Ron, don't boast,' Hermione hissed.

But Cho grinned at Harry. 'Excellent,' she said with a jealous moan. 'You'll have the best view from there.'

Harry felt himself flushing. 'Er – well… perhaps we could meet up after?'

She blushed too, and Harry left with a bit of spring in his step.

Ron would not let them linger at Cho's campsite. He wanted to see the Bulgarian lot – with the enormous likeness of their Seeker, Viktor Krum, emblazoned above every tent. Hermione scoffed and Ginny snorted, but Harry rather understood Ron's star fever. He had read up on Krum a lot this summer, when he'd been alone at the castle. Only eighteen and an international Quidditch sensation… Harry wondered how he coped with it. Krum only ever looked surly and focused as far as Harry had seen, even in his press photographs. Perhaps it was part of the 'image' Ron kept banging on about with relish; or perhaps, like Harry, Krum found fame an uncomfortable yoke to bear.

Still, _he_ would have rather been lauded for prodigious Quidditch talent than his role in a tragedy he could not even remember.

They arrived back at their own tents about ten o'clock, arms laden with heavy buckets and panting slightly. Fred and George were still off on their own dubious exploration, but the older Weasley boys had turned up in their absence. Percy and Charlie were busy at the fireside – the latter stacking logs and the former studying a Muggle flint. A plethora of broken matches discarded in a ring about the pit told Harry that Mr Weasley had probably had a few goes already. Arthur, however, was now huddled close to the tent itself with Bill. They talked in hushed voices with furrowed brows. Harry saw that Mr Weasley clutched a note in one hand, and an owl had perched itself above Bill's head on a tent pole. Neither wizard seemed to notice their approach. Up close, they almost appeared to be arguing.

'– of us ought to go,' Bill hissed at his father.

'If he thought we ought to be there, he'd have told us,' Mr Weasley disagreed. 'We've no idea whether there's even cause for concern yet.'

'But what if Dumbledore has taken the decision to –'

A shower of sparks pierced the air, some sailing dangerously close to their cloth abode. Charlie, it seemed, had decided the Muggle technology could use a bit of magical prodding. The large tawny owl gave a screech and ducked its head. Bill and Arthur Weasley both turned at the sound, and caught sight of the water-laden teenagers at last.

'Ah – we thought you might've fallen in!' Mr Weasley joked, coming to relieve Harry and Hermione of their buckets. He had hitched a smile on his face, but Harry could tell it was forced. Over his father's shoulder, Bill was still frowning deeply.

'What's happened?' Harry demanded, looking between them as Bill took the water buckets from Ron and Ginny. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' Mr Weasley said, far too quickly. 'Just discussing the day ahead.'

Harry frowned. He did not want Mr Weasley to think he had been eavesdropping… but he also hated to be placated. The latter won out.

'You were talking about Dumbledore,' he prompted.

Bill and Mr Weasley exchanged another look. It was Bill who cleared his throat first, while Mr Weasley disappeared into the larger tent. 'He's… ah, he may not make the match,' he admitted. 'Something's come up at the school.'

'What's come up?'

'Nothing that Dumbledore can't handle,' Mr Weasley assured him. He had re-emerged with several packets of sausages, a handful of thin metal rods and two long baguettes. He smiled through the handle of a battered copper kettle balanced on top. 'Come and help me with this, won't you, Harry?'

Harry did. But in the corner of his eye, he did not miss Bill affixing his own note to the owl's leg.

'I don't know about this…' Charlie muttered darkly, brandishing the flint at his father. 'Wish you hadn't bungled so many matches, Dad. Percy or Bill could've done it – they've had Muggle Studies. But this –'

'No magic. Ministry rules,' Mr Weasley said with gleaming eyes. 'I'm sure if we all pull together here, we ought to be able to sort it.'

'I can help if you like,' Hermione offered, reaching to take the flint from Charlie. 'My parents used to take us camping every summer.'

'Us?' Harry repeated curiously, just as Ron echoed: 'Used to?'

Hermione struck the flint, and several sparks caught among the timbers. 'My cousins and I,' she clarified, passing the instrument back to Arthur's eager hands. 'My dad's brother's girls. They're about our age.'

Ron looked shocked. 'Why've we never met them?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'They're _Muggles_ , Ron. They aren't at Hogwarts. And besides, I don't see much of them myself anymore.'

'Why not?' asked Ron.

She gave them both a sad smile, but did not answer. 'That will take a couple hours to heat up enough to cook,' she told Mr Weasley with a nod at the newly sparking fire. 'Shall I put the sausages back in the cool?'

He passed them over, looking thrilled. 'There's a Muggle fur-ridge to the right inside our tent,' he informed her. 'It's the white rectangular –'

'She knows what a fridge looks like, Dad,' Fred said, rolling his eyes. 'But can't we just heat the fire up with –'

' _Muggle security_ , Fred,' Mr Weasley repeated excitedly.

Shaking his head, Harry followed after Ron and Hermione into the larger of the two tents. Fred's moaning about his empty stomach was muffled slightly as they swung the flap. The entire interior of the tent – much, much more spacious than he would have guessed from the outside – smelled rather like Mrs Figg's. Harry could not help wrinkling his nose in distaste.

'So… why don't you see them anymore?' Ron was asking again.

The fridge door hid Hermione's face from view. 'Well… I used to do some odd things around them, didn't I?' Her voice was matter-of-fact, but Harry thought he could hear a hint of sorrow. 'It was never a big deal when we were very young; just smaller peculiarities, as expected I suppose. I could keep tea warm longer than it should be; my things never seemed to dirty in the mud; I had a knack for finding books I misplaced… the usual. But then one year when I was about eight, we went camping in the Forest of Dean. It rained terribly the first night. Ellie was supposed to secure this plastic covering over our wood – so it would still light, you know – but she forgot. The next day it was freezing, and my father could barely get the logs lit, and then when he did, they mainly smoked and fizzled.'

She sighed, finally shutting the little fridge door. 'All I wanted was a bit of heat,' she said with a shrug. 'We were all sat as close to the fire pit as we could get while our parents went for water. I was still frozen, and just thinking how the tent was like to be even colder that night… when suddenly this ball of flame rose up and flew straight into our tent. The whole side of it caught fire.'

Harry grimaced in sympathy. Ron laughed. 'Well – that's one way to heat things up, I suppose.'

Hermione glared. 'It wasn't _funny_ , Ron. I was lucky everyone was outside when it happened. Muggles can't douse a fire like that with a simple spell, and they can't repair the damage – especially if it's a person that gets damaged.'

'But you didn't do it on purpose,' Harry pointed out. 'And you couldn't have helped it. Plus, like you said, nobody was inside.'

'True,' she agreed. ' _I_ wasn't even sure it was me, at the time. I didn't know I was a witch, of course… not until the summer before Hogwarts. But it _felt_ like I had done it, and I was terrified. My father thought the wind must have caught a bit of wood and carried it into the siding. But Natasha had been watching and swore she'd seen me do it. Her mother couldn't get her to calm down at all, and we wound up leaving that same night.'

'And you stopped camping?' Ron asked, still looking rather bewildered. 'Just because your cousin got a bit stroppy? What an utter –'

'She wasn't unkind,' Hermione clarified. 'Neither of them was, at least not on purpose. But I… frightened them, I think. They weren't keen on family holidays after that. There wasn't much for me to do on my own with Mum and Dad, so we stopped as well.'

'But you can control your magic now,' Harry pointed out. 'You haven't reconnected?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Not much. I see them a few times in the summer – for tea or dinner and such. But things were never quite the same; and of course, I can't tell them anything about Hogwarts… so it makes it a bit difficult to carry on conversation. Besides, they aren't interested in camping minibreaks now. Ellie has a boyfriend with a motorbike that drives Uncle Robert to distraction and Natasha joined a swimming club.'

'Oi – are you lot coming?' George's head peered round the flap. 'You're missing the parade of who's who out here, and Percy's helpful commentary. If you don't get on he'll just give us the encore…'

He shuddered for effect. Ron rolled his eyes. 'Tell him he can lump it,' he suggested. But the three of them followed after George all the same.

And Harry – lost in Hermione's little tale, Mr Weasley and Percy's identifications of passing wizards, and Charlie, Fred, George and Ron's good-humoured ribbing on the upcoming match – temporarily forgot about the curious owl and its ominous news.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They trudged all morning through the wet, dreary cliffs.

Well… _trudged_ would, perhaps, be an exaggeration. Certainly Albus walked; but Moody – with his false leg and tenuous temper – did more magical tracking than hiking.

Albus had thought to keep his part in the search furtive at first, but it became clear on their arrival that to expend such effort would merely waste time. The ruined castle, the bluffs, the beach, the woods, even the village streets were crawling with Ministry workers – and Albus would sooner have their counsel than elude their notice.

He was surprised Fudge had spared so many on the very day of the Quidditch final. At least two dozen wizards were combing the area when they arrived; several perilously close to the Shell Cottage boundary.

Kingsley happened to be the first in their path.

'Professor Dumbledore,' Kingsley said with affected indifference, turning from a group of young-looking Aurors clustered about him. He doffed his hat in greeting. 'And –'

'Shacklebolt, I'll need –' Rufus Scrimgeour broke off, surveying the newcomers. His expression almost bordered on relief at the sight of the headmaster, but quickly darkened as Alastor clunked up beside him. 'Mad-Eye,' he greeted coolly. 'I'm afraid this is a closed investigation.'

'Aye, I reckon it is,' Moody agreed. 'But I hear you've let things slide a bit since I surrendered my post, Scrimgeour…'

The head of department bristled at once. Albus cleared his throat.

'Forgive us, Rufus. We meant no intrusion. I happened to be calling on Alastor when I received the news. Naturally, I felt compelled to offer my assistance.'

'Of course, headmaster,' the Auror acknowledged with a short inclination of his head. 'And I have no objection to it. But Moody –'

'Afraid I might show you up, Rufus?'

Scrimgeour's yellow eyes flashed. 'Afraid you may Stun a colleague rather than our quarry, perhaps.'

Alastor's scarred face hardened from its humour. 'I have been accused of many things, Scrimgeour. But sloppiness has never been among them. It was not _my_ team that allowed Black to elude capture for thirteen months…'

'Perhaps we should return to our search,' Kingsley interjected in his low, gentle voice.

Scrimgeour cleared his throat. 'Indeed,' he said tersely. 'Alastor… since you have deigned to grace us with your presence, I suppose you might partner –'

'I'll be sticking with Dumbledore. Least I know I'll have a wand at my side rather than at my back.'

Albus shot him a withering look. But to Scrimgeour, he gave a smile. 'That suits me perfectly, if you've no objection, Rufus.'

The Auror seemed to unclench his jaw with great difficulty. 'Very well. The general area's been scoured right enough, but I want nothing left to chance. We're working in half-square-mile zones for this one. I doubt he's been fool enough to linger, but we've set Anti-Apparition wards seven miles in every direction all the same. If he _did_ delay, he'll have a job reaching a boundary now.'

A chill crept up Albus' spine. He had almost ascribed it to fear before several of the Ministry wizards conjured silver Patronuses. He added his own to the mix just in time, as a small horde of Azkaban wraiths drifted by towards the cliffs.

'I had thought the Minister was no longer using the Dementors in the hunt for Mr Black,' Albus said to Scrimgeour when they had gone. He knew his tone betrayed his disapproval, and was unsurprised when the Auror frowned.

'They are used when needed, Dumbledore,' he answered defensively. 'And they were called for this. Which, incidentally, does lead me to wonder who informed you of the night's events.'

Albus smiled benignly. 'I have a few friends who remain rather fond of Muggle wireless.'

Rufus swore under his breath. 'Thought we'd Obliviated everyone who… well, never mind that now.'

He gave a brusque cough to clear his throat, and began barking out assignments to the throng. Albus and Alastor took their own without complaint, and several minutes later were pushing through the heather and sea grass.

'Futile, this,' Moody grumbled for perhaps the seventh time, cursing as his wooden leg caught in a bramble. 'I ask you – in what misguided universe would a wizard on the run being actively chased _remain_ where he'd been nearly captured?'

'Sirius is not in his right mind,' Albus reminded him.

He had already explained at length the information Remus had imparted that morning. Yet Moody was of the firm opinion that, Malaclaw or not, Sirius would have had enough presence of mind to flee the area as soon as the Ministry made itself known. Albus was beginning to silently agree – as the hours wore on without sign or trace of him and without word from any of the Ministry searchers. Still, he argued aloud, if Sirius _had_ retained enough wits to elude capture, it made little sense that he had not then returned to the safety of Shell Cottage. Minerva and Remus had been as silent as their Auror compatriots.

At least the wetness of the night was fading, as the noon hour came and passed. A soft breeze off the sea peeled the remnants of rain from the blades of grass, and the mists began to lift with the fruitless retreat of the Azkaban guards.

Albus stopped at the edge of a particularly rocky crag, staring down into the grey water below. The sea had not yet relinquished the storm; and its tumultuous fury crashed and pulled on the boulders beneath them. Ignoring the dark mutterings of his companion, Albus studied the waves. He wondered what would happen next. Where Sirius was. How long he had. How long Remus had. How long they all did.

The dark abyss beneath them just seemed to swirl; ever cold, ever terrible, ever angry.

'There are other magics we might use,' Alastor suggested, catching up the headmaster and dragging him from his thoughts. He puffed from exertion, and the magical eye swept the landscape as though the reeds might be eavesdropping. 'Other ways…'

Albus wrenched his gaze from the sea. 'No.'

'Albus, even you cannot wear the white hat always. Desperate times call –'

'I will not risk it, Alastor. Scrying magics have flaws, and the influence of the Malaclaw still plays upon his spirit. I will not take the chance that such spellwork might tip the Ministry to his whereabouts. We do this the old-fashioned way.'

'They will not share your reservations,' Alastor warned. 'I'm surprised Scrimgeour hasn't already suggested it.'

'No doubt the thought has crossed his mind. Yet it seems, through a stroke of unlikely luck, Sirius did not leave a trace of blood or other material for the Aurors to utilise. And Remus' own blood can lead them to naught. Even were he not protected by the magics of the Cottage, his lycanthropy makes scrying impossible.'

Alastor grimaced. 'That will aid him little when they've had a moment to consider his involvement. Have you given him warning?'

Albus resumed his stride, now heading back in the direction whence they had come. 'Not yet. But I have little doubt he will come to realise the situation himself before I return. There will, I hope, be time enough to counter that attack once we have found Sirius. And it is imperative that we do so _before_ Remus comes under fire.'

'You can't think the fool would risk his very life to keep the werewolf from scrutiny?' Alastor hissed. 'It is madness, Dumbledore.'

'Some may see it as such,' Albus agreed. He quickened his stride. 'Yet Sirius has too much honour to condemn his truest friend to Azkaban in his name.'

'That's the problem right there, isn't it?' said Moody darkly, using one gnarled hand to hoist his wooden leg up the uneven hill. 'They never tell you the price of honour.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sated with a hearty luncheon and the warm sun, Harry was beginning to feel a bit sleepy even through his excitement for the upcoming match.

He, Ron, Hermione and Bill were the only ones manning the campsite now. Fred and George had snuck away with Lee Jordan somewhere nearer the pitch, and Ginny was visiting the school friend they had met this morning (whose name Harry could not remember but felt it would now be rude to re-ask). Arthur Weasley, meanwhile, had headed off to meet up with some of the other Ministry officials. He had given the others a light-hearted line about wishing to be sure the Muggle dress code was properly enforced… but Harry thought his face looked a bit too tense for fashion advice. Charlie had accompanied him, as had Percy – his chest puffed out importantly as he mused aloud whether his new boss might be about.

Bill elected to stay with the trio. He was smiling and casual about it – as Harry was beginning to suspect Bill Weasley was about nearly everything. But he could not quash a sneaking suspicion that Bill was staying behind specifically to watch him.

Nor could he stop his slight irritation at the prospect.

'Take these in, won't you?' Bill asked, handing the remains of the luncheon to Ron and Hermione as he shook open a bin bag.

Harry bent to pick up Fred's discarded plastic cutlery, but Bill stayed his hand.

'Don't be daft,' he said with a laugh. He waved his hand at the mess surrounding the fire pit. The rubbish began to toss itself in the open bag.

Harry stared. He had noticed _this_ habit quite a bit since he had met Bill as well. He was not quite sure why, but it left him a little disconcerted.

He had seen other wizards do wandless spellwork, of course. Albus did so frequently. So did Snape, and a few of the other teachers, though with less regularity than the headmaster. Many of the adult wizards he had met performed simple spellwork wandlessly… but even some of the best he knew, like Minerva, were _more_ likely to cast with a wand than without. He had rarely seen other young wizards execute wandless magic. And certainly not with the sort of casual consistency that Bill had shown.

He thought it was odd. He distinctly remembered that Snape had said in their first lesson that the practice was not taught at Hogwarts.

'You do a lot of wandless spellwork,' Harry could not help but point out as Bill shook the now half-filled bin bag down and began to knot it. 'Have you always, or…'

Bill glanced up with a flashed smile. 'As do you, or so I understand.'

Harry flushed a bit. 'I've been taking lessons,' he said modestly. 'But I thought they didn't teach it at Hogwarts, generally.'

Bill shrugged and tossed the bin bag aside. It popped away of its own accord.

'They don't. A lot of wizards pick up a few spells though… and I practise without my wand quite often at work. Force of habit,' he added, when Harry looked surprised. 'Many of my colleagues are African – went to Uagadou, you know, in the Mountains of the Moon. They don't use nearly as much wandwork there.'

Harry's eyes widened. 'But wandless spellwork is supposed to be the most difficult branch of –'

He cut himself off as Bill laughed. 'Oh it is for us, I think. Our school system is taught to the wand; it's how we learn to harness our powers. Once we've committed to it, it is very difficult to learn an entirely new way to use our magic. It's like a different language, Harry. If you learn it young, it's second nature. But the older you get, the less likely you'll ever really master a new tongue.'

Harry stared. Bill, recognising his confusion, shook his head. 'The wand is a European invention, designed to focus and enhance spellwork. But you will have learnt all that in History of Magic.'

'Er… not my best subject,' Harry admitted with a wry grin. 'Go on then.'

Bill laughed again. 'It _is_ a necessary tool now, for most Western-educated wizards who've been taught to harness their abilities through it. But African wizards, and a few other cultures, are taught first to control and focus their magic innately. They believe our methods of tying a witch or wizard to an instrument hamper that student's distinctive talents. The wand is introduced later in their course of study, for more advanced spellwork in which its properties are more useful, or even necessary.'

'Bit of a point, really,' Harry grumbled, remembering well how his own uncertain abilities without a wand had been tested when he was deprived of his weapon.

Bill studied him. 'Perhaps,' he allowed. 'The students of Uagadou are well-known for their advanced abilities in self-Transfiguration, which of course is also closely tied to mastery of one's magical core. A staggering percentage of their alumni are Animagi. On the other hand, Hogwarts students are able to advance much more quickly in Charms, elemental Transfiguration and Defence work with the use of a wand so much earlier in their school careers.' He shrugged. 'A debate without an answer, but there you have it.'

'Yeah… I suppose,' said Harry uncertainly.

Bill had bent to rummage about in a rucksack. He emerged with several bottles of butterbeer, twisted two together to pop the caps, and offered one out to Harry before swigging deeply from his own. The day was growing hot; and Harry was grateful that these bottles had been served cool. He wiped a bit of sweat from his temple.

Bill sank onto an upturned log. 'You're liking it though, the wandless magic?'

Harry shrugged. 'I suppose. It's difficult. Not as difficult as lessons with the headmaster, but…'

Bill nodded, looking pensive. Harry was not sure how it could have happened; he hardly knew Bill, after all, and had told him hardly anything… but there was honest understanding in the young man's expression.

'It is difficult,' Bill agreed. He offered a small smile – far less jovial than his previous laughter had been. 'To learn from the best; from a true master… it's a great honour. But it is also a heavy burden.'

He picked at the label on his butterbeer. Harry cocked his head, a bit surprised. 'Did you have tutorials from Albus too?'

Bill's answering smile was much lighter. 'Oh no. I believe you are the first to have that privilege since Dumbledore left the classroom. But I too have been counselled by powerful men – and I know what a trial that can be.'

He swallowed the last of his drink, bending back on the log to stare around Harry at the open tent flap. Ron and Hermione's raised voices could be heard as the wind blew the fabric aside.

'Come on – we'd better see what they've got up to now.'

They had barely split up the argument and got Ron and Hermione their own butterbeers when the others returned en masse. Mr Weasley, Harry noted immediately, was looking highly strained. Percy and Charlie stood grim-faced beside them.

'It looks like Albus and Minerva will both miss out tonight,' Mr Weasley confided, taking a drink from Fred with a grateful nod and helping himself to a seat. 'That business up at the school hasn't calmed down I'm afraid.'

Harry gaped at him. If _Minerva_ was electing to skip the Quidditch World Cup Final, someone had died. Or worse.

'What's going on?' he demanded again. 'Minerva loves Quidditch. She'd never miss out the _Final_ … Is she ill, or –'

'No, nothing like that,' Mr Weasley assured him quickly. 'Sometimes these situations can't be helped, Harry. I expect – ah, Mr Bode!'

He jumped to his feet, greeting some passing wizard with enthusiasm that seemed to take even the stranger by surprise. Harry glowered, well aware he was being put off.

'We'll fetch some more tea,' Hermione offered, pulling at Ron and Harry's sleeves as Mr Weasley invited Mr Bode to sit for a cuppa. 'Come on…'

Harry allowed himself to be reluctantly dragged away, but he was fuming as Hermione shut the tent flap behind them.

'That's not on!' he growled. 'There's something they're not –'

'I know there is, Harry,' she agreed. 'But there's no point trying to wheedle it out of him now – not while there's Ministry wizards visiting. If Mr Weasley even knows, that is.'

'It is strange though,' said Ron. 'Mum's always tight-lipped… but Dad tends to let us in on things unless there's something _really_...'

'I'm not sure you're helping, Ron,' Hermione sighed. But she redirected, looking a bit anxious. 'Do you think the headmaster will send Professor Snape, Harry? If he and Professor McGonagall can't make it, I mean?'

Ron gaped at her in horror. 'He'd better not! Can you imagine? Our lot, you, Harry, Bagman, and old Snape sat up in the top box? Fred and George would throw themselves over. And I'd have half a mind to join them.'

Harry chew his lip. 'I dunno… could be…'

Privately, he _really_ hoped Dumbledore did not. There were few things that took the fun out of a Quidditch match quite as quickly and effectively as Snape. And Harry could not help but think he would have difficulty forgetting the events of his last live Quidditch match if Snape claimed the seat beside him.

'He did in Edinburgh,' Hermione pointed out, as though reading his thoughts.

'Nah, he won't,' said Ron confidently. 'It was just McGonagall and us set to go then, wasn't it? And that was back when Dumbledore thought Sirius Black was –'

' _Shh, Ron!_ '

'After Harry,' Ron concluded in a hushed voice. 'Couldn't be too careful then, could he? But Dad's here, and Bill, Charlie and Percy are all qualified now. _And_ there's dozens of Ministry employees.'

'I don't think Albus likes the Ministry much,' Harry put in thoughtfully.

Ron raised an eyebrow. 'Well – nobody _likes_ the Ministry, do they? But they're the government. Even if he thinks they're all nutters, Dumbledore must trust them well enough.'

'Not enough to tell them the truth about Sirius,' Hermione whispered.

The three of them exchanged dark looks.

Ron cleared his throat. 'Even so, he wouldn't sic Snape on us here. Place is crawling with Law Enforcement, and Aurors and –'

'No, it isn't.'

The three of them jumped at the new voice, as Ginny waltzed in to join them. Harry coloured at once, but her expression did not suggest she'd heard too much. She frowned at their guilty faces.

'Haven't you noticed? We haven't had a single Auror come round yet – and you'd think they'd be first on duty, wouldn't you?'

Ron pulled the flap a fraction aside and rose on tip-toe to scan the surroundings, as though the extra height might give him a better vantage. 'Yeah, that's odd…' He dropped his heels again, suddenly scowling at his sister. 'But this is a _private_ conversation, Ginny. Go pester one of the others.'

She huffed, tossing her long hair over one shoulder and giving Ron a scathing look, but she stormed off towards the fire pit without bothering to retort.

'You didn't have to be rude,' Hermione lectured.

But Harry was scanning the crowds himself now. A sickening pit of dread was gathering in his stomach.

'Where _are_ the Aurors?' he hissed through the bickering.

Ron and Hermione broke off. Hermione bit her lip. 'Harry… don't jump to any conclu–'

'It's not _jumping_ , Hermione,' Harry insisted, whirling back to them. 'Just think on it! Albus _and_ Minerva skipping the match? No Aurors – at the busiest international event this country has hosted in Merlin knows how long? And those strange messages; Ron's dad's face… _Bill_ staying back to keep a watch out… What if Sirius –'

'Keep it down, mate,' Ron advised. He yanked Harry back from the tent flap so hard he nearly stumbled. 'Fred, George and Ginny don't know, do they? And I don't reckon Dad's told Charlie or Percy either, even if Bill's –'

' _And_ there's two Ministry wizards out there now,' Hermione added, checking the gap herself. 'Mr Bagman has come to join. We'd better get back, or they'll be looking for us. Come on.'

'Wait a mo!'

Ron ducked to the kitchenette, swiping a tin of tea leaves off a shelf. He nodded, and Hermione led them all back out. Harry found it very hard to keep his face neutral and relaxed, with his heart hammering a marathon in his chest.

'Harry, Harry, so good to see you again my dear boy!'

Bagman leapt to his feet, wringing Harry's whole arm in his excitement. Harry forced a smile to his face that he was sure looked as though he were masking a toothache.

'Mr Bagman. Yeah, hi.'

'And this is my son Ron, and Hermione Granger,' Mr Weasley introduced. Bagman relinquished Harry's hand to shake the others.

'You ought to have come out to meet Mr Bode,' Percy chastised them in an undertone as everyone took seats again. 'He's an Unspeakable. And I fear he will have considered it impertinent to –'

'Oh, Boderick never stood on ceremony,' Bagman excused with a deep laugh.

But Harry jumped at the chance to distract his racing mind. 'What's an Unspeakable?'

'Employee of the Department of Mysteries,' Charlie answered. 'Never really know what they get up to in that department.'

'Well, that's not entirely true,' Percy disagreed with a small sniff. 'They are charged with exploration of Magic's deepest mysteries, for study and advancement. There's a division devoted to time, one which is meant to study the inner workings of the mind, another concerned with prophecy, the division of death, the –'

'Yes, yes, but you're not sitting your Ministry entrance exam _now_ , are you Perce?' George interrupted loudly.

Percy coloured as Bagman chortled good-naturedly. 'All beyond my humble intellect,' he sighed, shaking his head. 'All I've to manage is Sport. Though even that is a right enough job, I'll have you know. Of course, not without its perks.'

He whipped a sizable sack out of one bright-yellow pocket with a wink. Its contents jingled enticingly.

'Anyone fancy a flutter?'

Mr Weasley and Charlie each bought in for a couple of galleons; and Fred and George (over their father's anxious caution and Percy's disapproving lecture) pooled together what appeared to be their entire savings for a wager. By the time Ginny had started to pour the tea, Bagman's sack was quite a bit fuller.

'What time does the match actually start?' Fred wondered, studying the sky.

Bagman swallowed a sizable chuck of crumpet. 'Just round sundown. We've got a bit of the afternoon left to us before things really heat up. Though I have a fair responsibility between now and then, I'll say…'

It did not seem to Harry, however, that this was strictly true. Or, perhaps, Bagman simply did not care to attend to whatever responsibilities those might be. He remained at their fireside for the better part of an hour and a half, sipping his way through three cups of tea and devouring half of Mrs Weasley's crumpets. A number of other wizards came and went; sometimes pausing to join for a few minutes, sometimes just for a polite word to Mr Weasley or Bagman. Around four o'clock, Percy's new boss Mr Couch happened to pass and condescended to sit with them a few minutes. He greeted Harry politely; though, unlike Bagman, with no allusions to their past meeting whatsoever – shaking his hand solemnly as though they had never made acquaintance before. Had Harry not been continuing to stew with anxiety for Sirius, he might have been slightly offended by this apparent lapse in memory… Then again, for all his propriety, Crouch barely seemed to recognise Percy Weasley himself. At least, not well enough to have learned his name.

'Is it, er, quite a large department?' Harry asked Percy as the latter regained his seat after seeing his new boss away. 'He seems… busy.'

Percy, who had been tracking Mr Crouch's departure with his eyes, glanced back in distraction. 'Pardon? Oh, ah… no. Not particularly. But Mr Crouch is rather involved throughout the Ministry. He wasn't always in international relations, you know. He was head of Magical Law Enforcement in his day.'

'Til he got sacked,' Fred put in helpfully.

Percy's ears reddened. 'He was not _sacked_ , Fred. He wished to put his vast diplomatic and language skills to better use. After all, he speaks over –'

'Who voluntarily resigns the biggest job below the actual Minister for Magic and shunts _himself_ to International Magical Cooperation?' George asked. 'Honestly, Percy…'

'Barty's choices are none of our business,' Mr Weasley said firmly, sending the twins a stern look. 'And goodness knows he's a talented man. I've never seen such dedication.'

'Too right, too right,' said Ludo Bagman, who was also looking rather uncomfortable. 'Barty's been instrumental in this tournament. And Merlin knows he has the lot on his plate today. What with most of Magical Law Enforcement down in Cornwall after Black –'

Harry's heart stopped its hammering. In fact, it seemed to have dropped entirely from his chest.

'WHAT?! Sirius was _where_?'

Bagman swung round to look at him, and his boyish face held fatherly concern.

'Ah – yes, of course… Harry. I should have… Well, not to worry, not to worry. Far too much security here for him to have a go. You'll be more than safe. I'd offer to stay round myself, in fact, but I'm afraid with my duties tonight…'

'Thank you, Ludo, but we'll keep an eye out,' Arthur cut in. He shot Harry a look that plainly stated they would speak when Bagman had left. Harry ground his teeth, but subsisted.

'Course, now they're rumbling on about that werewolf he was mates with – the one Dumbledore had up to teach last year.'

' _What_?' This time, it was Hermione who cut in.

Ron was not far behind her. 'What do they want Professor Lupin for?' he demanded.

'Well – he was out there with him, wasn't he? Or some werewolf was, and there's not any other with the history that Black and –'

'Ludo, perhaps we should defer the rest of this conversation until the Ministry deems it public knowledge,' Arthur Weasley suggested with an anxious glance about them. 'I wouldn't want to sour the mood just before the match, and you never know what sorts of gossips might be lurking nearby.'

'Yes, quite right, father,' Percy agreed. He adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses importantly on the bridge of his nose.

Harry wanted to protest, but he did not wish to make things worse than they already sounded by arousing Bagman's suspicion. He was getting the impression that Bagman was used to such gentle chastisement. He merely shrugged his shoulders in benevolent guilt, winking at Mr Weasley.

'Quite so, quite so I suppose, Arthur.' He slapped his knee and stood from his crouch. The gold the twins had given him clinked softly in his bulging pockets. 'Well… I'd best be off in any case. Got to have a word with the referee.'

He handed his teacup to Ginny, who was nearest, and bounced away in his lurid yellow robes like a flightless canary.

Harry waited only long enough for Bagman to disappear beyond the next row of tents before he turned a glare on Arthur and Bill Weasley. He dared not speak here – not where anyone might be listening. He was not even sure how many of the other Weasleys knew the truth. Arthur and Molly, certainly – Albus had told him as much. And Bill… Bill must know. That's why he'd been whispering with his father earlier that morning. But Ron had said…

'Can we talk a moment, in private?' he hissed at Mr Weasley.

Arthur gestured without a word towards the tent, and Harry stormed through the flap ahead of Bill. He barely registered Ron and Hermione hurrying along behind them; nor Charlie taking up a post at the entryway; nor the others' shocked and slightly offended protests in their wake. He felt as though his vision itself were reddening around him.

' _Why_ didn't you tell me?' he demanded, whirling in the centre of the cat-scented room. 'How _could_ you not tell me?!'

'Harry – Sirius and Remus will both be fine,' Mr Weasley said calmly. 'You know the protections that are in place.'

'But Albus isn't here,' Harry pointed out. 'Nor Minerva. If everyone's safe and there's nothing to worry about, why aren't they coming to the match?'

Mr Weasley's brow was strained again. 'There were some complications last night. I don't know the details, Harry – but Albus has sent word that there is no current cause for panic. The Ministry have not captured Sirius.'

'Then _why_ –'

'No doubt he's stayed behind to see to the situation,' said Bill. 'Lupin's involvement is a potential difficulty with the Ministry – you just saw. He'll be needed to smooth things over, and time is always a concern with things like these.'

'Precisely,' Mr Weasley agreed, nodding at his eldest son. 'I know it's hard, but best put it out of your mind for now and leave him to it. Dumbledore has sorted out much worse than this before.'

Harry did not feel appeased.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'They sent a summons an hour ago,' Minerva whispered, ushering both Albus and Alastor through the door. 'Some undersecretary in Fudge's own office.'

'And I have to answer, if only to delay them.'

Remus strode through from the front room. Though he had clearly had a bath and change of clothes since they had parted ways, the low-hanging sun put hardly more colour in his cheeks than the cold rays of dawn had done.

'Have you found any rest at all?' Albus asked in concern.

Remus gave a hollow laugh. 'Rest? _Rest_ , Albus? Sirius is still missing and the Ministry is out for both our blood. I have been sat here unable to help, with almost _no_ idea what's been going on out there, and you think I could –'

'Forgive me. A foolish presumption,' Albus placated. 'And I am afraid we have little time. The missive, Minerva?'

She handed over the scroll. Albus read it quickly, Alastor peering over his elbow.

'Dolores Umbridge,' the ex-Auror spat furiously. 'A frivolous wretch if ever there was. She is of little consequence.'

'Wretch she may be, but there is nothing frivolous in the summons,' Minerva snapped. 'She has the backing of the Minister in this, and the power to launch a full inquiry. That is consequence enough.'

'She has a reputation,' Remus added. 'I've heard of her before. She has campaigned against 'half-breeds' almost her entire career. If there is a chance she might leverage my involvement in Sirius' latest escape into an assault on the werewolf community, she will do so. This is an opportunity she has awaited for a lifetime.'

'And a problem for tomorrow,' Albus said firmly. 'What we must concern ourselves with now is how to keep you –'

'We need to _find Sirius!_ ' Remus shouted. 'They already know I was there. If I turn myself in, we might stall a bit longer. Give you more time to –'

'I will not exchange Sirius' freedom for yours, Remus.'

Remus ran a hand through his prematurely greying hair with another hollow, desperate laugh. 'Albus, this isn't Hogwarts. You can't keep us all safe and protected forever. I knew the risk I took when I went after him last night.'

'They will throw you into Azkaban in his stead!' Minerva raged.

Remus shrugged. 'The fate that may await me is nothing to what they will do to Sirius if he is caught. And I have no information they might glean as to his whereabouts, whatever attempts at interrogation they may try. I cannot send them here, even if I wanted to. And I have no more idea where Sirius has gone then they do.'

'A werewolf, and you expect you'll meet leniency?' Moody barked. 'Are you so naïve, boy, or merely so eager to die a martyr?'

'You have more information than you can afford to give, Remus,' said Albus quietly. 'And none of it is so precious as your very life. Let me –'

' _You_ have to find Sirius,' Remus interrupted. 'And you are an asset we can't lose, headmaster. If you speak for me, we run the risk you will be found complicit as well.'

Albus smiled gently. 'I do not think Cornelius is so lost as to jump to that level, whatever the zealousness of his undersecretaries. Remus – I do not suggest that we ignore the summons, nor that we arrive prepared to duel. But perhaps a moment's caution would not go amiss.'

'There's no _time_ for –'

Albus held up a hand. 'There is time enough. You have just suffered the cycle; it would surprise no one that you failed to receive the message immediately. A few hours delay may be all we need.'

Alastor cleared his throat. 'I could get in touch with my girl in the Auror office, see what they know?'

Albus inclined his head. 'If she can be discreet. With our presence today, I doubt a few questions on the proceedings would seem amiss.'

Moody nodded once and left without another word. Albus too turned for the door once more. 'I shall be in touch again before nightfall. Minerva – if I might ask you to send word along that we will miss the festivities this evening…'

'Already handled, Albus,' she assured him, now pushing Remus back towards the parlour.

'Good. Remus – please, try for some rest. You will need your strength before this is over.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was nearly dusk when Bathilda Bagshot set out. Hers would be one of the final portkeys to Dartmoor – a coveted honour for which she'd paid both in gold and a lifetime's work. It was worth it, she thought, for the chance at a home-played Final. Most likely she would not live to see the next.

She had never much felt her age until recently. Cataracts had plagued her, certainly; her penmanship grew sloppier if she sat with quill in hand much after dusk. But it was not until these past few years that she had noticed other failings. Her bones felt thinner; more brittle. There were aches in her spine and wrists and knees upon standing that she did not remember noticing before. She began needing to summon things stored too high, and lower her cloak stand as her shoulders sunk. The bustle of town exhausted her more than it interested.

Still, at least her mind was sharp as ever.

Bathilda had bad days; and better ones. Today was the latter, she noticed with pleasure as she walked briskly from her little cottage, clicking the lock behind her with a flicked spell. The evening's air promised a warm night, and the excitement of the match kept a spring in her step. She turned towards the end of the road, where the remnants of the Potters' home still marred the sweet village landscape. She had been told the portkey would lie opposite – out of possible discovery by the village's Muggle inhabitants. They had offered to drop it at her house, as she would be its sole passenger, but Bathilda had demurred. She had learned many decades ago to be wary of Ministry callers.

So she tottered up the road, humming to herself. It was well she knew the path by heart, for the glare of the setting sun was near to blinding. She was almost at the turn when she heard it.

A soft, keening cry – echoing from the remnants of the Potter cottage.

A chill ran through her ancient bones, as the cries of others rang in her memories. She had heard so many from that house.

She paused, uncertain. By her watch, she had seven minutes remaining…

It sounded again.

Bathilda turned away from the copse where the flattened tyre was meant to be, and strode instead for the ruin. She could not see a despairing figure – but it was far too late for ghosts in these walls.

She pushed through the rusted gate, spelling ivies and nettles from her path. Some had been trod upon recently – and she knew she could not be the first to make this climb today. The last had not been so careful: torn bits of cloak hung from crushed stems, and more than one thorn was bloodied.

She tarried at the entrance. Half the house was blown away, and she was not sure the stairs would hold even her slight weight should her quarry have sought the nursery – as so many did who dared break the sacred and accursed boundary of the gate. But the cry sounded again, much closer, and Bathilda pushed the door ajar.

A man lay crumpled on the floor, barely inside the little entrance hall. His robes were ripped and stained; filthy and rank with sweat. Hair half-covered his face where it lay upon the dusty floorboards. His fingers were torn and bloodied too, and his nails raked the rotting wood weakly where he lay. Choked sobs escaped him, peppered with murmured words too garbled to understand.

Bathilda did not recognise him until she knelt. When she did, she gave a stifled cry of her own.

' _Sirius_!'

She reached out to stroke the hair from his face, but he recoiled from her shout and touch with a whimper. Even so, she could feel the heat of his skin.

'Sirius,' she called again, softer.

He half-turned his head. One grey, bleary eye struggled to focus on her face. She smiled for him, though she would sooner have wept.

'Sirius, it's Batty,' she tried, in that same placating tone. 'What are you doing here, dear? All on you own?'

The broken man continued to paw at the ground, his eye drifting closed. She feared he might not have heard her at all. But after a moment, he answered.

'Home,' he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. 'I was supposed to go home…'

She frowned in confusion. Sirius had lived at the cottage once, it was true… but it had not been his home since before Harry had been born. Now, of course, it was no one's.

'They're all gone,' he rasped out. 'All of them. Jamie – he went right here. Exactly here. But he told me to come and I came.'

She reached tentatively for his hand, but he wrenched it away.

'He was whole, you know. Lily too. But she wasn't.'

She grasped for his hand again. This time he did not shrug her off, but pawed at her palm as he had stroked the floor. Though the evening was warm and his brow had been fevered, his fingers were ice. How long had he lain here, gripped by lament?

'You're not well, Sirius,' she told him gently. 'Come back with me.'

He ignored the plea.

'I broke the cup,' he croaked. 'It was weeks before I could touch it… and then I broke it.'

Bathilda squeezed his fingers, trying to rub warmth into them. 'I'm sure you didn't mean to.'

He lifted his head off the floor to glare angrily at her. She could see the outline of rotting floorboards against his tear-tracked cheek. 'Of course I meant it!' he hissed. 'I threw it against the wall!'

'Right,' Bathilda agreed, distracted. She glanced nervously about the derelict hall. A many-legged bug scurried away from her scrutiny. She sighed, looking back to the man on the floor. 'Sirius – come.'

She tried mightily to yank him upright, but Sirius merely moaned his refusal. In a slight panic now, Bathilda stamped her foot.

'Sirius – I cannot lift you on my own, and I can hardly walk the lane with my wand aloft to levitate you. Come now, get up!'

The sharpness in her tone seemed to jar him. He sniffed and, with her aid, managed to climb shakily to his feet.

'Good,' she encouraged, tapping the top of his head to Disillusion him.

She half-pulled him through the doorway and they made an agonising trek back up the road. Her brittle back ached beneath the ever-increasing weight as Sirius' strength was sapped by the journey. Bathilda nearly broke to cast a feather-light charm, but she worried the change would cause him to falter entirely.

At last, they gained the sanctuary of her home.

Bathilda would have preferred him abed in the room he had borrowed at the start of the summer. But Sirius, delirious and unsteady on his feet, could not make the climb alone, and Bathilda was far too slight to bear him and loath to use magic to do so. She lowered him instead onto her sofa, filthy though he was, and chanced a spell to clear the worst of the grime.

She frowned with a hand on his brow. Whether from the exertion or the magical cleansing, the fever seemed to have risen.

'What happened, Sirius? What are you doing in Godric's Hollow? Where's Remus?'

But he could not answer; or perhaps did not understand. Bathilda conjured a damp flannel and a bowl of cool water instead, and tipped a summoned potion down his throat.

She waited until he had been lulled into a semi-conscious doze before sending the owl.

A Patronus would have been faster… but she could not know what company the headmaster might be keeping on this most inauspicious day, and even a coded message could draw unsavoury callers. She'd tried the Floo, but to no avail – and she dare not leave tidings with another. Her bird was swift as any, at least. With magical aide, he could find Albus quick enough.

She dipped the flannel into the water again and bathed the sweaty brow. Sirius was still mumbling incoherently, and the antipyretics did not seem to touch the fever. She wanted to give him a Sleeping Draught, or perhaps Draught of Peace… but she was too skittish of the illness to attempt it. Instead, she settled for the cool cloth and words of comfort she was not sure he heard.

The sun finished its set beyond the sitting room windows. The match would be starting any moment. She sighed – not this year, it would seem. Perhaps she would take the trip abroad for the next.

Sirius moaned beneath her hand, tossing his head restlessly… continuing the nonlinear mumbling he had been uttering for the past hour.

'I never told her. Never.' He choked on the words. 'I should have. I should have said it every day.'

This time, Bathilda could guess what he meant. She stroked his hair gently.

'She knew, Sirius. Women always know.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Twenty-Five**

 **Michelle Meadows** : Thank you so much for reviewing! I am very glad to hear you've discovered the series and have been enjoying it thus far. I hope the new chapter will be a fun read as well!

 **Leonore** : Thanks for reviewing! I really appreciate the continued support and readership, and thank you so much for your compliments. I hope you'll like the new chapter!

 **Master of Energy** : Thank you for the review! So happy that you are still enjoying the story so much. No Harry POV at all in this chapter (:O!) and the focus is definitely on our poor Sirius, but I'm glad you liked the insight into his character here all the same – and I promise Harry features heavily in Chapter Twenty-Six! I have been so excited to get to share the story of how Marley died; and, more importantly, what Sirius experienced on that evening. It's an odd thing – because we _start_ her story knowing that she has died… so it's rather less about shock value in terms of her actual death and more about discovering just how deeply this has affected Sirius (or, at least I hope that's how it read). I wanted to dribble out her tale a bit – when we first learn early in Part II that she fell on New Year, we see only the aftermath (where Sirius arrives at the Potters' cottage to see Lily and Harry, and an allusion is made to James having visited her parents). Over time, we've learned more about Sirius and Marlene's backstory and the tenure of their relationship… and, of course, we learned earlier in this book that it was Karkaroff who killed her. But I sat on the actual moment of her death for a while in the hopes that it would resonate more with the reader if we first learned just what she meant to him – and just how broken he was when he left the moor that night. He rarely allows himself to explore it so deeply; but this fever offered the opportunity for frenzied thoughts along that vein. Anyway – this is a very long way of saying I do hope that came through and that the scene worked, because I found it to be one of the most incredibly difficult to write emotionally.

I appreciate the compliments! Haha, I wish sometimes that it _was_ a group of writers rather than just me… it would certainly help to get the chapters posted faster! In any event, I do hope you enjoy the new instalment!

 **Estel Ashlee Snape** : Thanks for reviewing! You'll see the conclusion of Sirius' current quandary in this next chapter… poor bloke – you're right, he's had a rough go of it. I hope you enjoy the continuation!

 **Lost** : Thank you for the review! Very pleased you have found the COH series and that you are liking the stories. I apologise for the wait, but I do hope you'll enjoy this next chapter. As for Harry's emotions… ah, just you wait. Of course, I haven't set out to write an angst/hurt-comfort centric fic… but that sort of thing naturally enters the larger story in its time. We've seen a bit thus far, but as things become more difficult and the death count rises, there will be a _lot_ of emotional Harry moments, I promise you. Actually, I have more than half of the fifth instalment (this series will play out in eight parts, I believe) written at this point, and that particular book (which roughly corresponds to book 6 of canon) will be very, very emotional. Sometimes I am just bursting to share what's up ahead – but I don't want to spoil things, so I shall leave it there for the moment. As to Minerva – we'll definitely get more from her in both this book and in future. She's a favourite of mine as well. I hope you'll keep reading, and I hope you like Chapter 26!

 **SmartKoala** : Thank you for reviewing! Great to hear you've discovered COH, and I am very happy you've enjoyed it thus far. I hope you'll like the new instalment. I cannot promise you answers on Sirius and Remus in this chapter… but we'll see the conclusion soon. In the interim, enjoy Le Cri de Coeur!

 **Guest Review** : Thank you so much for your very thoughtful reviews! You raise a lot of excellent questions… and I will do my best to answer what I can. First off, yes – this is definitely going to be a long book. I have thought a few times about splitting it… but ultimately I think I will probably tell it to its logical end. The beginning of this year has been complicated by factors unfortunately a bit beyond my control, but now that I am feeling marginally better I am hopeful things will pick up in terms of posting pace. And, though I feel it is a bit cliché to promise, I herein vow that I will not – at any time – abandon the work.

Very glad that you enjoyed the opening scene with Sirius. I thought it would be fun to break from my status quo a bit here, and explore this from a non-linear, frantic-with-fever mind so that it reads as the chaotic, desperate train of thought that it is for the character to experience. I am glad to hear that came across well. Yes, the Malaclaw has something to do with the direction of Sirius' thoughts; as does the fever and his desperate predicament… and the ill-fortune _is_ a full-week affair. Of course, bad luck and catastrophe are not _quite_ the same thing – so there is _some_ hope that Sirius will have a bit of an easier time in future. I hope you enjoy where this goes next.

The McKinnon family is _so_ interesting – and I can't wait to get into them a bit more. Voldemort has particularly deep and significant reasons for targeting them, as of course he does for many… but I fear to give more away would spoil things. I will reveal here that they _were_ killed separately – Sean first, at about New Year 1980; Marlene just about a year later; and the remainder of their family near the end of the war. As to how the Order members learned to fight so well… that would also be a bit of a spoiler, _but_ it's an excellent question and I will say that Albus put a great deal of thought behind it, both at Hogwarts and beyond. You will find out more before this series is done.

Ah, the curse. So the thing about it is, I deliberately did not mention what it was here. Mainly because in this moment, to Sirius, it doesn't matter _how_ she was put in a state close to death nearly as much as it matters that she _was_. I can promise that it was not a curse created by Snape, Sectumsempra or otherwise. Its interesting to me that you thought Marlene seemed familiar with it… entirely possible that she was. But her resignation here is more about the fact that she'd been training as a Healer, and she knew the damage done to her body by the dark magic was too far gone for repair. The questions on emergency healing and summoning help are also very interesting. So my general view is that while some might carry such potions, it's unlikely because Dumbledore had provided portkeys for emergency transport to Healers (we saw in the scene with James' injury back in Part II that Madam Pomfrey and Lance Prewett would assist in receiving the injured back at the infirmary by this method). Theoretically, if one were injured enough to leave the battle but not so far that they could not be saved, they could be quickly transported via this method and receive treatment. There are times, on the other hand, when someone is _so_ gravely injured that travel by Portkey is not recommended – which we also saw with James, who Albus elected to transport himself. If one were so catastrophically injured, simple potions administered in the grime of battle are unlikely to assist much. Some injuries from dark magic cannot be healed at all, as we know. On the battlefield, meanwhile, you could use spellwork if needed; and sometimes a Healer might be present (here, we know Lance was present… though whether that was a deliberate change in Order protocol is unclear). Finally, and perhaps most importantly… there is _perhaps_ a bit too much reliance on Albus, particularly among the youngest in the group. Even with Lance present and known to be the Healer, Sirius shouts here for Albus first, and last. Ultimately it's rather immaterial – Albus is of course also quite skilled in healing, and neither Lance nor the headmaster could have saved her. Perhaps Sirius knew this instinctively but refused to see… perhaps his desperation for Dumbledore is driven by knowledge that the magic is irreversible, but if anyone _could_ reverse it, it would be Dumbledore.

A panic button _would_ , perhaps, be useful. They have the Patronus spell, and ways to magically magnify their voices. Query whether Sirius might have been better off using some other method. But battles are rage and chaos and blood – and perhaps _always_ too much panic. Still, your suggestion has much merit. Here, I wanted to show Sirius' raw emotion – his pain, his terror, and the moment when magic is not enough. All the while he is telling himself Dumbledore will be able to do something to reverse things (just as Albus and Lance saved Lily, when _she_ was the one bleeding out in his hands five months earlier). While it is certainly too late in the moment Albus gets to them; it was too late long before. His desperate panic is counterweighted by Marley's quiet, almost graceful resignation – but both are reflective of love.

The Oak Tree. Ah yes. One of my favourite subjects! You are correct in that we have seen this oak tree before, several times. It sits on the edge of the meadow Harry and Snape visited together in Part II. It does have particular meaning; though whether Sirius fully recognises that is not clear. He associates it with shelter and protection, as he took shelter and protection beneath its boughs while hiding out in the forest. This is not an incorrect association, but this particular tree is more than it seems or symbolises. I do not wish to give things away, of course, but I will say that the English Oak, unlike its counterparts in some other areas of the world, is actually quite long-lived. Major Oak – famous for its legendary role in Robin Hood – is estimated to be about one thousand years old.

Ah, I can neither confirm nor deny rumours of Moody and Barty Crouch Jnr ;). Except to reiterate that yes, things will definitely go differently in this iteration. We haven't had a Voldemort POV in some time – and that has been deliberate. But we will check in with him again before 1 September. As to your theory on the poisoner and possible motives… you shall have to wait and see! But you raise some very intriguing possibilities. Because I do not wish to leave the musing entirely unanswered, I will say that you are correct in that the poisoner's purpose was never to actually kill Harry Potter. Yes, the illness was deliberately created more severe than it might otherwise have been had he simply caught it from a mate, but it was still essentially pneumonia, curable with Wizarding medicine.

On your additional thoughts about Grindelwald, I will say that while he is manipulative, calculating and certainly advancing his own agenda, he rarely tells an outright _lie_. I believe he would see the need to resort to something so base as lying as a failure in his own cunning; highly unpalatable to someone of Gellert's intellect. Though truths, as we know, can be more layered than they seem. Gellert also has a keen understanding of Albus Dumbledore – who he is, who he was, and (most especially) who he fears he could become.

Thank you again for taking the time to write such comprehensive and interesting reviews! It's both very kind and also truly helpful – because a dialogue on the book and the development of the story always helps me in the writing process. And thank you for your offer to assist! Be careful – or I may actually enlist you in future :). At the moment, I _would_ be particularly grateful if you could find me a surrogate to carry this baby the rest of the way to term, or perhaps a calming draught with which I could survive the two already running about my house…

I jest. And I immediately feel terrible for shunting my own exhaustion onto my children. So I shall atone for my sins by sharing a Dumbledore quote not yet published in COH, born very late one night a few days after the girls had started to walk:

'There is some precious magic in raising a child. It is living in the present, treasuring the past, and knowing you behold the future.'


	27. Into the Woods

**A/N:** I have little else to say but a sincere thank you once again to everyone who has stayed with this story through thick, thin, and recent unexpected delays. I am hard at work on the next chapter, and hope to get it to you soon. Thank you to all who have shared comments and reviews – it really does help with the writing process!

Much love to you all, and enjoy 'Into the Woods'!

As always…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 **Into the Woods**

'Just once, Albus, I would welcome a visit _not_ predicated on some immediate crisis,' Bathilda grumbled, shooing him hurriedly inside.

Albus bowed his head, though relief would not allow him to lose his smile. 'Duly noted, my dear friend. Though I do not recall a particular calamity on the day I called with Harry.'

Bathilda, who had been leading the way into the front room, glanced back over her shoulder. 'There are more crises than those of the physical being, Albus,' she opined cryptically. 'Come – have some tea.'

Albus left her comment unchallenged, though it gave him vague disquiet. 'I would rather see to Sirius first,' he said instead.

But Batty shook her head. 'He's only just quieted. Let him lie undisturbed a few minutes more, at least.'

She led him into a rarely-used dining room, where a kettle was already steaming in the centre of an ornate table. Through the cracked door to the sitting room, Albus could see Sirius on the sofa. He hesitated at his proffered chair.

'Sit, Albus. He is resting well enough for now.'

He sank into the burgundy cushion and let her pour the tea. The room had hardly changed in the century Albus had known it. Bathilda preserved history in her personal world as well as she did on the page. The walls had been repainted; a modernised wireless stood on a corner dais. But the mahogany table; the spindled chairs; even the tea set were exactly as Albus remembered – and as pristine as ever they had been. It was almost uncomfortably warm, though the night beyond the windows had turned chilly.

'It was fortunate you came upon him, Bathilda. I had feared far worse.'

She huffed. 'Wouldn't have done, if I'd not been on the way to the match myself.'

'If you wish to –'

'No point now, is there? I've already sent an owl to stave off any awkward calls. But really, Albus. Half out of his head with fever and laying on the floor of the Potter cottage… what in Merlin's name happened? How did he get in this state?'

Albus explained what little he knew of the Malaclaw and the ensuing series of events. 'But how he came to be in Godric's Hollow…' he sighed. 'I have many theories. But I doubt we shall ever be certain.'

Bathilda tsked, shaking her head. 'A wonder he managed to Apparate at all. The poor dear.'

'Indeed.'

She fiddled with the edge of a serviette. Though through the open door both could see the subject of their discussion remained in slumber, Bathilda lowered her voice. 'He was speaking of the dead, Albus. Lily and James, and Marlene McKinnon.'

Over her shoulder, a tall, handsome blond put an arm about the shoulders of his photographic companion. The auburn-haired wizard threw his head back in silent laughter.

Albus closed his eyes. 'A future lost,' he said softly. 'What happened to Marlene was tragic for both of them. And, I fear, left a vacancy that even time cannot heal.'

She peered closely at him. 'When he and Remus were here at the start of the summer, he seemed certain it was Karkaroff who had killed her. Is it true?'

He sighed again. 'Entirely possible, though I do not know for certain.'

'And are you certain it is wise, to have such a man flitting about Hogwarts this coming term?'

'I am certain that the Tournament will forge bonds between members of the next generation; those of different nationalities, different backgrounds and different walks of life. I cannot underestimate the value of such international ties in future. Karkaroff, I believe, can be managed. Isolationism is a far more dangerous road than one man's lost ambition.'

'If you –'

A sharp tapping on the window interrupted her, as an eagle owl strove for their attention.

'That is not my bird,' Bathilda said, frowning as she stood to undo the hatch.

The owl took flight again as soon as she had freed it of its burden. She flipped the envelope curiously, and then held it out for Albus. 'How would he know to find you here?'

Albus took the letter and broke the seal. 'I have a House-elf forwarding post. Mina knows where to find me.'

He perused the contents in several quick moments. 'It is as I feared,' he said, vanishing the missive with a flick of his wrist. 'Cornelius will not be pacified. I'm afraid I shall need to wake Sirius now, Bathilda. I must return to Remus.'

She pursed her lips, but did not move to intercept him as Albus swept into the sitting room. He crouched at the edge of the sofa and placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder. It took several attempts to bring him round. When he did, the younger man gasped as if pulled from deep water.

'Calm yourself, Sirius,' Albus beseeched, gripping both his forearms before Sirius could fling himself off the sofa in panic. 'It is only me.'

'Du – Dumbledore? What are you doing here? What –' He broke off, looking around in confusion. 'What is – where are we?'

'At Bathilda Bagshot's, and I fear you are not well,' the headmaster said gently, offering a small smile. 'You have had quite an adventure these past hours.'

Sirius' pale face whitened further. For a moment, Albus worried he was still caught in delirium. But his eyes, though glassy, remained focused on the headmaster's face.

'The cave… there was a boy; two boys. Remus!'

'Remus is well, though anxious for your own safety,' Albus assured him. 'He awaits us with Minerva at Shell Cottage – where we must return, as soon as you feel able to stand. It would not be wise to tarry outside the boundaries of sanctuary much longer.'

Sirius relaxed slightly. He allowed Albus to assist him to a semi-upright position, sinking his back against the cushion with a weary nod. Though he bowed his head, Albus could see tears threatening at the corners of his lashes.

He seated himself on the edge of the tea table. Conscious though he was that the Ministry would not lay dormant forever, Albus waited in silence all the same.

'I know you're going to ask. But I don't know why, really,' Sirius admitted hoarsely after a moment. 'It was mad – coming here.'

'Madness is a term far too liberally applied.'

Sirius snorted, though the gesture was half-hearted. He still refused to raise his face. 'You would take that view.'

Albus smiled. 'Perhaps. But it was not madness that brought you here in a feverish trance, Sirius. It was love. And grief. Neither is a shameful trait.' In a corner of the sitting room, the blond ghost eyed him from a bookshelf. Alone this time, he crossed his arms over his chest, winking cheekily, smiling with his violet eyes as Albus watched him. 'Though we must exercise caution with both.'

Sirius lifted his head at last. Several of the tears had broken free.

'I could feel her,' he croaked, brushing fingertips through the air between them, gazing through Albus as if through a veil. 'The touch of her head on my shoulder; the warmth of her skin against mine. I could smell the pear and freesia of her hair. Merlin – I could almost _see_ her, Albus.'

'Yes. Hallucinations are not uncommon with Malaclaw fever. But the worst, I think, should be past now.'

'The worst…' Sirius echoed in a whisper. 'Do you have any idea what that meant? Do you have any idea what I would give – what I would give _up_ – for just one more moment with her?'

Albus took one sweaty hand in his own, squeezing lightly. It took little imagination to remember much smaller fingers he had once clasped the same.

'I have every idea, Sirius,' he said sadly. 'Would that I could offer you a reprieve from the pain of it. But had I known the answer, my dear boy, I would have spared us both.'

Bathilda cleared her throat in polite announcement of her presence, tottering into the room and holding out a slightly old-fashioned cloak. Albus tracked it warily as she passed it to Sirius' hands.

'An old spare, I'm afraid. You didn't seem to have one when I found you, and it's grown rather chilly tonight.'

'Thank you,' Sirius said, accepting the cloak in shaking hands. 'For everything, Batty.'

Albus stood. 'I shall take you Side-Along, I think. Best not undo what good the rest has done you.'

Sirius nodded. 'I'll just pop into the loo first, if you don't mind.'

'Do you need –' Albus began, moving to help him off the sofa. But Sirius waved a hand and found his feet with only slight unsteadiness.

'No, thanks. I can manage it.'

Both Bathilda and Albus watched him into the corridor. Albus threw his own travelling cloak back around his shoulders.

'I must thank you again, Bathilda,' he said, doing up the fastenings.

'You will let me know how he gets on, won't you?'

'I will.'

'And Remus?'

'Of course. As soon as possible.'

She sighed. 'And for Merlin's sake, Albus. Do force them to have a _bit_ more caution in future…'

'As best as I am able,' he promised.

Bathilda touched his arm with a sad smile. She stood but only just above his hip, so stooped she had become in their century of acquaintance.

'Long past are the days when I could scold you for exploding cauldrons in my cellar, Albus. Yet even the greatest of wizards must still take care. Men are more fragile than the most delicate of potions, and far less easily mopped up.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The grounds of the World Cup stadium were abuzz with excitement by sunset – added to the literal buzz of thousands of spells the Ministry appeared to have given up attempting to prevent as the revelries intensified. Everyone in the packed campsite seemed to be tittering in anticipation.

Everyone save Harry.

 _Harry_ felt as though he would rather be at Hogwarts with no Quidditch at all then continue in the pall of anxiety over Sirius' fate.

'Cheer up, mate,' Ron muttered, clapping him on the back as they made their way through a throng of people at the edge of a makeshift souvenir market. 'Dumbledore would've told you himself if there was anything to truly worry about.'

'That's probably true,' Hermione agreed bracingly. It had been she who suggested the evening stroll, keen to take Harry from both his own melancholy and the curious eyes of Fred, George and Ginny. 'Ooh – have a look at those!'

She pointed to a particularly loud saleswizard, peddling what appeared to be brass binoculars with a plethora of extra knobs and dials. Even Harry found himself fascinated as the eager man started in on his pitch.

'Omnioculars,' he announced proudly. 'Perfect for the avid Quidditch enthusiast. Replays action, slows or speeds at will, even offers a play-by-play breakdown for the newer fan. Ten galleons each – a bargain!'

Ron bemoaned his luck, gesturing to the shamrock hat and miniature model of Krum he already held. Harry took pity and bought three pairs over the others' protests.

'Early Christmas gifts,' he insisted, shoving the omnioculars into their hands. 'Now come on, we'd best get back to the tent.'

It was nearly time for the match, but that wasn't his hurry. He rather hoped in their absence there might be news; or even a surprise appearance from Albus or Minerva.

But Harry's hopes sank as they rounded their final bend, only to find the rest of the Weasley lot pinning on their rosettes and shaking out flags. Albus' tall figure was conspicuous only by his absence.

'Come on, you lot – we'll be late!' Charlie ushered.

Mr Weasley, however, gave Harry a broad grin. He set a hand on his shoulder and leant down to whisper at his ear under the guise of admiring the new omnioculars. 'Albus has only just sent word, Harry. Sirius has been found. He's safe.'

Relief nearly crumpled his knees. As it was, Harry found himself gripping Mr Weasley's hand rather tightly. 'Thank you,' he breathed back.

Mr Weasley smiled, winked, and straightened up. 'Right then, we'd best get a move on!'

As if on cue, a deep gong resounded throughout the campsite. Red and green lanterns popped up along a path, blazing their way through the wood to the out-of-sight pitch. Mr Weasley led the way, keeping his group together amid the thousands of others stampeding the same trail. Harry caught snippets of song in languages he could not determine; shouts, laughter and – once or twice – a muttered spell. Giddy with relief and the return of his own excitement, his cheeks soon began to ache from grinning.

Twenty minutes later, they emerged in the shadow of the stadium itself. Harry glanced up at the gilded round wall – and up, and up. He could barely discern the top amid the dusky sky. As if in answer to his musings, torches taller than the Hogwarts towers burst to life along its edge, drowning the light of the earliest stars.

'One hundred thousand,' Mr Weasley answered Hermione, who Harry assumed had enquired after the seating. 'Ministry task force of five hundred have been constructing all year. Every inch of it spelled with Muggle Repelling Charms, of course…'

They made their way to the throng swarming the nearest entrance in the base of the golden wall, scrabbling about for their tickets. Mr Weasley handed their stack over to the Ministry witch at the booth, and moments later they were climbing purple-carpeted stairs into the sky.

In his eminent brilliance, Harry had figured that 'top box' meant they'd be… well, at the top. Yet the climb seemed even higher than it had looked from the ground. Their crowd thinned at every landing, ducking through doors to the right and left until it was just the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione huffing and panting to the summit. They emerged at last at the end – where there was no door at all but a short walkway to the prime seats: twenty or so gilded chairs at the highest point in the stadium, set exactly between the golden goal posts. Harry whistled in appreciation as he glanced around the packed oval arena.

'I know,' Ron agreed excitedly, joining him at the rails. 'Isn't it mad?'

A snuffling sound stole Harry's attention before he could answer. He turned, wondering if perhaps one of the others was afraid of heights, only to find a tiny House-elf sat in the second from last seat at the end of the middle row. He stared, surprised. This House-elf was draped in a tea-towel, like many of the Hogwarts elves wore… but of course, they were hundreds of miles from the school, and he did not see the crest at her shoulder.

'Er… are you alright?'

The little elf had her hands pressed over her eyes. She did not seem to realise Harry had spoken to her. Tentatively, he reached out to touch her shoulder instead.

The elf jumped, releasing her eyes just enough to see who stood before her. 'Oh – begging your pardon, sir. Is you wanting this seat?'

Harry smiled. 'No, not at all. I was just wondering if you were okay.'

She frowned at him in apparent confusion. 'I… I… Winky is not liking heights, sir. Not at all.'

The others had started to look round now, curious expressions on their faces. The House-elf quivered slightly at the attention, but her eyes were widening as she studied Harry's face.

'But you… you is surely Harry Potter!'

Harry felt his face grow warm. 'I, er, yeah. I am.'

Her mouth dropped open. 'I is hearing of you sir, I is hearing of you often! Dobby tells Winky of Harry Potter, when he visits her, sir. He is always talking of the Harry Potter who freed him.'

To Harry's surprise, she sounded almost disapproving. 'Er… how is he?'

She shook her head sadly. 'Ah, sir. I is not liking to say.'

'What, he's not unwell?' asked Harry anxiously.

Winky continued to shake her head. 'He is up to all sorts now, Harry Potter. Believing he is ought to be _paid_ for working. Forgetting what a decent elf –'

'Why shouldn't he want proper wages?' asked Hermione indignantly, coming to stand beside Harry.

Winky squeaked and half-hid her face again, looking properly miserable. 'Ah, House-elves is not _paid_ , miss, and sir,' she moaned. 'No, no it is not proper. It is not right. But Dobby won't listen to Winky – no… he is ought to be finding a nice family to look after. But instead, he gets up to all sorts, peddling about like a common goblin…'

'What's wrong with a bit of fun?' asked Harry. 'I mean, he can't have had it easy at the Malfoys all those years.'

Winky gave a little shudder. 'House-elves is not meant to be having fun, Harry Potter. House-elves is meant to be doing what they is told. _I_ is not liking to be in high places, not at all, sir… but my master tells me to be saving him his seat, and I is coming like a good elf.'

She gestured to the empty seat along the aisle to her right. Harry, following her hand, frowned at it. The air above the seat seemed to shimmer – not visibly, exactly, but in that odd way that spelled objects sometimes did. He wondered if Winky was using more than just her presence in the box to ensure nobody took her master's chair. He was struck with an odd urge to touch it; but years of living in the magical world shouted strongly at him that to do so would be very foolish indeed.

'Harry – come and have a look at this!' Ron called, jarring Harry from his spell.

He left Winky to her terrified vigil and turned back to the rail, where Ron was testing his Omnioculars on an unfortunate man with a cold below them. Hermione finally forced his desist, flicking through her velvet programme to enquire of Mr Weasley about the national mascots. An excited banter on the anticipated creatures ensued, broken only by the arrival half an hour later of Cornelius Fudge and the Bulgarian Minister for Magic. The latter motioned excitedly to Harry's forehead at the British minister's pompous introduction, and Harry suffered an uncomfortable round of hand-wringing and fatherly praise from Fudge while the foreign wizard settled himself, continuing to babble in what Harry assumed was Bulgarian to his stately-looking wife.

'Wish Barty would arrive,' Fudge sighed, wiping a bit of sweat off his brow. 'I've been struggling with them the past half-hour. Ah – I see his house-elf's saving him a seat. Well spotted – these foreign blighters have been trying to cadge all the best – ah, Lucius!'

To the near-universal horror of the box's other occupants, Lucius Malfoy swept into their midst. Harry ground his teeth as he saw Draco's smirking face just behind his father, and his haughty-looking mother bringing up the rear. She, Harry did not know – but her eyes scrutinised him with near the same scathing disapproval as her husband's did. She was tall and blonde like both the others, though her hair was more golden than the platinum of her husband and son and her eyes were blue rather than grey. There was something vaguely familiar about them, though Harry could not quite put a finger on what it was.

Icy introductions only just north of civil for the sake of their dignified company were exchanged, and Harry and his friends did their best to ignore the newcomers as they focused on the pitch. Luckily for all their tempers, it was not long before Ludo Bagman came bounding into the box, his boyish round face alive with excitement and the Wasp robes he still wore straining harder than ever to contain him.

'All sorted, Minister? Ready to get going?'

Fudge gave his assent with an easy smile, and Ludo Bagman charmed his own throat to announce the match.

For the next four hours, Harry experienced Quidditch like he had never seen it before – from the antics of the mascots to the swelling crowd to the international players themselves.

Ludo Bagman's voice boomed behind him as the action sped on below and above, and – for the first time, really, since he had made the man's acquaintance – Harry understood why he seemed so well-loved. Bagman had a knack for taking the temperature of the crowd, cheering on and commiserating at just the right moments, with enough added commentary on the players and the match that he fulfilled his role without overpowering the play.

And the play itself was nothing short of spectacular. Rooting for the Irish they may be, but none of their lot could resist the indescribable phenom that was Viktor Krum. He was, in Harry's not unlearned opinion, easily the most watchable player on the pitch, prodigiously skilled and uncommonly daring. When at last he captured the Snitch (earning a particularly joyous applause from Fred and George, who had successfully wagered on the outcome), Harry found himself nearly wishing Krum could have won it all just for his performance.

'Did you see his Wronski?' he choked out hoarsely, still excitedly recapping the match with Ron as they made their way back with the singing, swearing and drinking crowds through the wood. 'I've _never_ seen it so perfectly done.'

'And the way Lynch got ploughed!' Ron added, pumping the air with his fist in celebration of the fall of the Seeker on the team he'd rooted for. 'That's what you get up against Krum!'

A swarm of leprechauns zooming by over their heads glanced down with a glower, and Harry shoved Ron quickly aside to avoid a dropping cauldron.

'Piss off,' Ron muttered back at them as he brushed his elbows free of dirt, though not loud enough to be heard. 'You've won, haven't you?'

Ginny giggled. 'Do you think they've calmed those Veela down, though? They looked ready to kill.'

'Bulgarian task force's been sent to sort them,' Charlie assured her, jogging up to join. 'One of my mates took a spot with them – easy way to get free tickets.'

'I thought you worked with dragons?' said Harry.

Charlie shrugged. 'I do. But we've got a couple who are specialists in magical zoology more generally.'

'Did you see Fudge when Oblansk revealed he could speak English?' Hermione asked, hiding a guilty grin. 'He was furious!'

Harry laughed. 'I liked him.'

The night's revelries were far from over, though the massive torches that illuminated the stadium had been doused. Every turn they took seemed to house some gathering or another – and the ban on magic appeared to be a bygone wish. Harry saw the Irish Chasers pass them into deeper wood, borne on the shoulders of fifty cheering fans. A group of eastern European wizards were drinking around a suspicious looking cauldron in another grove, several Veela drifting enticingly between them. Hermione had to pull Ron away before he wandered up to join. More leprechauns shot by at intervals, waving their lamps and dropping fistfuls of coins down upon the celebrations. And every so often they were forced to dodge an amateur enthusiast on a broomstick attempting one of the masterful moves of the match.

'Drink and flight do _not_ mix!' one harassed-looking Healer lectured nobody in particular, hitching up her skirts to dart after a tippy Nimbus fast approaching a tree.

When they finally reached their own campsite, they were all too keyed up for sleep. Mr Weasley and Percy made hot chocolate instead (into which Harry could have sworn Fred, George and Charlie dumped the contents of a shady-looking phial), and the ten of them shared amicable argument on the match late into the night. At last, Ginny broke the happy banter by falling asleep in her own mug, and Mr Weasley insisted they turn in.

'I'm glad it's not my turn on duty tonight,' he muttered, rubbing the balding patch in the centre of his head – which he had smacked on the base of a bunk when an echoed bang somewhere in the distance had caused them all to jump putting on their pyjamas. 'I wouldn't fancy having to tell the Irish they've got to pack it in.'

Harry, who was bunking above Ron, lay staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent long after the snores of the others had begun their chorus around him. He was filled with that giddy, otherworldly sense that always attended one who had been awake nearly twenty-four hours; not to mention a day of more tumultuous emotions than he could ever recall experiencing in his life. He shut his eyes at last – putting aside the earlier anxieties and focusing on the more brilliant moments of the Final. Krum's spectacular feint, the symphony created by the Irish Chasers, Malfoy's smug, stupid face when he had seen them sat in the top box…

But, oddly, as Harry finally drifted off to sleep, the last of his consciousness dwelled instead on that strange aura in the seat Winky the House-elf had been saving for Mr Crouch…

Who had never turned up to watch the match.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _'I shall be interested to hear your account of the Potter boy,' Gellert said, sipping appreciatively at the fine Italian red Bill had brought to break their monotonous routine. 'Such a mysterious child… and Albus is so heinously close-lipped.'_

 _'And what makes you think I'd tell you what he will not?'_

 _Grindelwald raised one white eyebrow._

 _'And the match, of course. I expect they'll be much to speak of on that front.'_

 _'You've a wireless now,' Bill pointed out, nodding towards the unit Dumbledore had permitted. 'You can listen live.'_

 _'Ah, but there is so much more in observation,' said Grindelwald. 'And so much more to observe, beyond broomsticks in the sky. Are you not curious, William?'_

 _'Curious about what?'_

 _'I do not know,' he said with a shrug. 'But no doubt there will be more than pomp and circumstance. There is much to be gained from careful study, William. Use your eyes; your ears; your instinct. Who speaks to whom, and why? Who tarries where they should not? Who makes use of an international event, to shore up allegiances? A wise man wastes no opportunity. And while he studies, the careless show their hand.'_

 _Bill snorted. The acid of the drink burned slightly in his sinuses and he quickly desisted. 'It is sport, Grindelwald. I doubt it shall be the centre of political intrigue.'_

 _The old wizard shook his head. 'Political intrigue takes no holiday, in my learned experience.'_

 _'You've been too long in this tower, I think.'_

 _Gellert raised his glass in mock toast. 'On that score, my young friend, you shall hear no argument from me. But do take care. I have grown too used to your company to trade it in now should you be lost in some mishap.'_

 _Bill smirked. 'So fond, Grindelwald? And here I thought you found me rather a dull substitute for the headmaster's companionship.'_

 _'Your youth and naïveté cannot be helped,' Gellert conceded with a very put upon sigh. 'And Albus is another breed entirely. But you are far from witless, Mr Weasley. There is much that I could teach you, were you not as yet so beguilingly unwilling to learn.'_

 _Bill eyed him warily. 'I do not believe I need that sort of instruction, Grindelwald…'_

 _The other wizard widened his eyes innocently and sipped his wine. 'I merely meant to suggest that Dittany works best if one cuts the tincture with a dash of guelder rose extract,' he said. 'A woefully underutilised remedy, but highly effective.'_

 _'Right. Well I'll stow that one away.'_

 _'See that you do.' Grindelwald's lips twitched. 'Why, Mr Weasley? Did you believe I would attempt to corrupt your soul?'_

 _'Something like that,' said Bill dryly._

 _Grindelwald laughed. 'How could I? You have already given it elsewhere, and we both know what happens to the divided soul….'_

 _Rather uncomfortable, Bill kicked his legs straight and stood. The tower did not allow much room for pacing, nor a window low enough to provide a vista for affected distraction. So he wandered to the fire instead, feigning interest in the objects collected above the hearth._

 _'I have upset you,' Grindelwald observed after a moment._

 _'You haven't,' Bill lied without turning from a cracked mirror. 'But I am weary. Travelling Egypt to Germany is no easy feat, as often as I've made the journey these past few months.'_

 _'It is Austria, technically.'_

 _'Pardon?'_

 _'This fortress. It lies in Austria, though the gate from whence you entered is indeed on German soil. A great palace once it was… though I imagine my tower cannot be the only room that now shows its desolation.'_

 _Bill turned despite himself in surprise. Gellert was smiling softly as he swept his free hand about the chamber._

 _'Impossible. The gates are in the Black Forest. Dumbledore brought me himself. Closer to France than –'_

 _'Appearances deceive, William. Not all steps are measured equally. You arrived in the Black Forest, it is true. But those gates are portals in more ways than one. I have been ever fond of straddling borders. For what are they, really, but another false barrier between worlds?'_

 _'Order?' Bill suggested. 'Some semblance of organisation.'_

 _'Is it?' Grindelwald volleyed back. 'Or is it merely another attempt to sort us all into boxes we were never meant to occupy? The line between order and tyranny is thin.'_

 _The rhetoric irritated him. The trickery even more so. Bill tapped the mirror with more force than he had meant. 'Why don't you repair this?'_

 _'What makes you think it is broken?'_

 _Bill sighed. 'You do realise how infuriating you are, don't you? It could drive one to drink.'_

 _Grindelwald grinned. 'Then it is lucky you have come prepared. Sit, my friend. And let your mind at ease.'_

 _Bill wandered first to the shelve of tomes, most of them already perused more than once. He took a volume at random, though he already knew his chances of fresh discovery were slim. He shoved it onto the table before him. Gellert topped off his goblet. Bill attempted to ignore him, perusing the book's index instead for a likely passage. He could feel the eyes of his companion upon him as he kept his head resolutely down._

 _'What do you fear from me, William?'_

 _Bill turned the page a bit too roughly. He had to mutter a spell to fix the tear._

 _'I do not fear you, Grindelwald.'_

 _'Ah, you are not a particularly skilled liar,' the other said with a smirk. 'A shortcoming I would recommend attention to – for it is a talent that has great use.'_

 _'I'll bet you've found it so.'_

 _The old man gave a wheezy laugh. 'You say it as an insult, but I shall not take it as such. I have never lied without good cause. And a lie is often far preferable to the truth.'_

 _'Really.'_

 _Grindelwald set the book aside. 'Tell me, my young and handsome friend. Have you never reassured your younger brother that all was well when it was not? Have you never told a woman she was beautiful when the sight of her repulsed you? Have you never soothed a dying man with words of false comfort?'_

 _'There's a difference.'_

 _'There is not. What justifies a falsehood is our ability to sleep at night. Our belief in a greater good.'_

 _'Forgive me, Grindelwald, but in your quest for this_ greater good _, you murdered thousands of innocents.'_

 _'_ I _did not start the violence.'_

 _'That isn't how I've heard it.'_

 _'Well then you have heard false,' Grindelwald insisted with a shrug. 'And even so, thousands have always died in pursuit of revolution and justice. Freedom has never come free.'_

 _'I could never hold peace with a man who killed Muggles for sport. It disgusts me.'_

 _Grindelwald hissed, finally losing his calm façade. Every candle in the room flickered as if caught in the wisp of air, until all but the few on the table between them were extinguished. The fire died in a plume of smoke, and the crack in the mirror that Bill had grumbled about grew two more inches in length. The tome before him snapped shut. Bill coughed in the small cloud of dust it had thrown into his face._

 _In the sudden semi-darkness, Grindelwald's pale face shone like the moon. He leaned across the table by degree, and Bill wondered if it was a trick of the dark wizard's magic, or if Grindelwald had always been so much taller than himself. Violet eyes – always unusual in their brightness – now seemed to burn with destructive fire; more pit than flame; more red than blue. He heard quick, rapid breath… and it took him several moments to realise it was his own._

 _And Bill was reminded that for all his banter and his scheming; for his lack of wand and imprisonment; even for Dumbledore… the man before him was no mere man. This was Gellert Grindelwald. This wizard had brought half the world to heel._

 _He fought the urge to flee. But it took so much of his effort, he knew the fear could not be masked._

 _'Do not mistake me for Tom Riddle, boy,' he whispered in a low, menacing voice that made Bill shiver. 'I have never –_ ever _– killed without purpose; without cause. Every life has value, William. Even the lives of the Other. Death may be a necessary sacrifice, but it is always a loss. You are too young to understand.'_

 _He straightened slightly in the high-backed chair with a sigh. A lazy wave of the hand not holding his wine set the fire roaring again, and the candles winked back to life one by one._

 _Bill swallowed around the lump in his throat, determined to show no further fear. 'I've told you before, Grindelwald. I am no school child.'_

 _'You are_ young _,' Gellert repeated. His voice had lost its menace, but none of its derision. 'Green and untested and naïve. Life has ever been kind to you. You have never lived through war.'_

 _'You-Know-Who –'_

 _'Was defeated by Albus' child ere your wand hand bore its first callous!' Grindelwald finished for him, setting his wine so hard to the table that the pages of the ancient book were smattered with crimson droplets. 'A monster of your childhood forgotten with the temperance of time and a merciful lack of memories you have never had need to un-see. You, William, do not understand what true sacrifice is. You do not know the agonising weight that rests on the shoulders of greatness – the burden that comes with every choice made in battle. Great men are terrible because they must be so. The greatest are those who can make the choice to do what is right; even when it is hard. Even when it makes him powerful enemies. Come to me when_ you _can make such a choice and bear to live with it. Perhaps then I shall allow you to pass judgment on my own.'_

 _'Your war –'_

 _'Was not_ my _war,' Gellert interrupted. 'Histories are written by the victor, and the world is quick to swallow them. It is easier for simple minds to comprehend the world in black and white; to see only good and evil. But I am not Tom Riddle, boy._ I _did not wage a war for my own domination. I was merely the figurehead for a much wider movement.'_

 _'A war for destruction of non-wizards,' Bill pointed out. 'And for the supremacy of pureblood–'_

 _'No, not supremacy,' Grindelwald disagreed. '_ Unity _. I sought to_ protect _us – to protect us all – from slaughter, from war and from senseless violence._ I _sought the peaceful way, William. I did not start the violence. I never have.'_

 _'Yet it comes to the same thing, whether you start it or not! Your followers – they did you bidding and carried out your crimes and killed for you. Died for you, same as the Death Eaters do for him!'_

 _His companion watched him closely. 'You think I equivocate for my own ends,' he accused. 'But let me ask you this – you who have placed so much at my feet. Whose bidding do_ you _answer? At whose command are_ your _secrets kept from the Ministry; from your friends; even from your family? Would_ you _give your life, to protect that family from another war?'_

 _Bill did not answer. Grindelwald took his silence for acquiescence; or perhaps merely apprehension. Either way, he gave a slow nod. 'Only fools ostracise their brethren en masse,' he said scathingly. 'And make no mistake – that is what Tom Riddle seeks. My companions chose my path because they chose my vision for a better world; because they believed in the righteousness of our cause. Those who died fell_ for _that cause. Not for me, boy… for themselves. For each other. And for the_ greater good _. I was the leader they chose, not the leader forced upon them.'_

 _'And You-Know-Wh-'_

 _'Voldemort knows only the power of fear,' he dismissed with a huff. 'And he will suffer for its brittleness. Look how fast they left him, those loyal companions who were to remake the world in_ his _image. Thirteen years spent in exile… that is what fear has bought him. Those who rule by fear hold a much more tenuous power than those who are beloved. Ask your omniscient headmaster, if you will not believe me.'_

 _Bill frowned at him. He wanted to argue the point… but he was not quite sure which point it was he took issue with._

 _Grindelwald smiled softly. He moved his gaze off Bill at last, staring over his shoulder at the cracked mirror. 'It is as I told you when first we met, William. Pure-blood, half-blood, Muggle-born… it makes no difference, in the end. Magic is magic. Magic is power. All that we must decide is what to do with the gifts we are given. What sort of world can we make? What sort of wizards shall we become?'_

He thought he heard the screaming before he felt his father roughly shake his arm – a backdrop to a memory in a dream.

'Bill. Bill – get up,' Arthur Weasley whispered urgently at his ear.

He pushed the bedclothes back, swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk. Below him, he heard his father nudging Charlie awake. On the far side of the tent, the others were stirring as well. It was still nearly pitch dark. Though his father's wand was lit, only one of the tent's lanterns burned. Bill raised his wand toward the nearest –

But Arthur stayed his wrist, his face strained and white even in the dim glow. 'Wands only. I don't want to draw them here.'

Bill lowered his wand. He could hear it plainly now that he was conscious. Laughter, sobbing, and screaming.

'What is it?' he demanded, wrenching his arm free and jumping to the floor. 'What's happened?'

He knew, somehow. He had known it from his father's first summons. Had known it, perhaps, from a week ago in a far-flung forest at the top of a forgotten fortress that somehow straddled two worlds.

'Riots,' Arthur said tersely, already halfway across the tent again. 'They're wearing masks – someone said they've gone for the Muggle family.'

Goose pimples raised along Bills forearms. Charlie shuffled him from behind to clear his path to stand. At the neighbouring bunk, Percy was already adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses.

'Get the others,' Arthur hissed. 'And for Merlin's sake, keep Harry out of their sight if it comes to it.' He ducked out the tent flap, presumably to wake Ginny and Hermione.

Bill hurried to obey while Percy and Charlie shoved hastily into robes. He summoned his own cloak at Ron's bedside, not bothering to shuck his pyjamas. His father's attempts at rousing them had both the younger boys stirring groggily, but neither was upright.

'Ron, Harry!' He rapped each roughly on the top of the head and moved to do the same to the twins. 'Fred, George! Up – get up now.'

Harry was the first to sit, the top of his already mussed hair grazing canvas. ''S matter?'

With Charlie's help, Bill finally shook the twins awake. He could feel adrenalin rushing in his veins as the sounds outside drew nearer; an aura of panic drowning whatever remnants of festivity lingered. Footsteps echoed close enough to discern among the screaming, and Bill hauled Ron bodily out of bed in haste.

'No time,' Mr Weasley growled, re-entering the tent with both sleepy-eyed girls in dressing gowns behind him. He fumbled with the zip of his jeans over his own pyjamas. 'Just grab a cloak and get outside, the lot of you. Move!'

Bill pushed the underage wizards out ahead of him with Percy's help. Charlie drew his wand as they shut the flap.

By the light of fading fires, they could see the chaos of the campsite. Most were fleeing into the wood, stuck as they were without the ability to Apparate; shouting for friends or family as they stumbled in nightclothes and bare feet. But Bill's eyes were drawn to the spectacle they fled – fifteen or twenty wizards in dark cloaks, hoods and masks, sending sparks and spellwork out about them as they roared with drunken laughter. In the centre, four held their wands aloft, hovering the innocent, spinning figures of four Muggle-clothed people. Two of them were tiny.

Even as Bill watched, the crowd around the revellers swelled with those too cowardly even to run. Their jeers and shouting rang through the night, so loud they almost drowned the wailing of the smallest Muggle child.

Almost.

His father's face was grim as all of them paused to examine the sight. He set his jaw before whirling to face the younger six.

'You lot – into the woods, and stay out of sight,' Arthur commanded. 'Get as far in as you can and _stick together_. Wait until we come for you.'

A hissed cry came from the nearing wizards. A tent several dozen along was set ablaze. Its occupants fled sobbing into the night, one woman clutching a howling baby to her chest.

'That's disgusting,' Ron growled, watching one of the floating children spin about like a top while its mother was flipped upside down, her underthings exposed to the hooting crowd. 'What –'

Three wizards in Auror robes shot past them, headed towards the slow-moving throng. Bill wondered vaguely when they had arrived. One shouted over his shoulder to his father.

' _Go_ , now,' Arthur ordered the teenagers again. 'We're going to help the Ministry. We'll fetch you when it's over.'

Bill did not tarry to see whether the younger wizards dared disobey their father's unusually commanding tone. Nodding to one another, he, Charlie and Percy took off together ahead of Arthur, trailing the Aurors towards the oncoming marchers.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry had not even had time to properly lace his trainers. They flopped on his feet as he followed Fred and Ginny into the woods, Ron at his side and George and Hermione panting behind them. At the edge of the trees as if by tacit agreement the six of them paused, all turning back to the spectacle once more.

The crowd beneath the floating forms – which Harry now realised were the Muggle groundskeeper, Mr Roberts, and his wife and children – had swollen dramatically. It was hard to count the figures in the darkness, but Harry guesstimated there were more than one hundred. A smattering of Ministry wizards were attempting to angle their way through to the hooded wizards in the centre; but having little luck.

'Why aren't they blasting them out of the way?' Ron snarled angrily. 'They're just _pushing_ them.'

'Don't be daft,' Hermione whispered back. Her voice was shaking. 'I expect they don't want to make the Roberts' fall. Or worse…'

'They're afraid they'll hurt them,' finished Harry, disgusted.

Even as he said it, one of the central hooded figures shot a spell at a Ministry worker. Like the tipping of an avalanche, the scene was suddenly smattered with an outbreak of duelling, shouting and hissing.

'Come on!' George grunted, yanking Ron to turn him away.

The path – so bright and inviting with its coloured lanterns and excitement mere hours ago – now seemed a perilous course through the darkness. Figures ran, tripped and fell from every direction, shouting and crying in a dozen languages. Harry was blind in the pitch dark, shoved and trampled from every side. He lost sight of the others entirely as he was pushed roughly to the ground by yet another fleeing man, and spat a mouthful of leaves away as he hauled himself upright.

'Ron? Hermione?'

'Yeah, I'm – OUCH!'

'What happened? Ron? Oh, this is ridiculous. _Lumos_!'

Hermione's wand tip illuminated her pale face. She was closer than Harry expected – and he promptly caught her shoulder before their foreheads could crack. She swung the wand's beam around, revealing Ron sprawled on the ground.

'Tree root,' he explained, accepting Harry's hand to pull himself upright again and testing his ankle gingerly.

'Was it really, Weasley, or have you just gone and fallen over your own mismatched feet again?'

The trio spun, Ron scowling. Leant against a tree just to their right was Draco Malfoy. He alone of those in the panicked wood seemed entirely at his leisure, watching the scene unfold through a gap in the foliage.

'You –'

'Forget it, Ron. Let's go!' Hermione urged, tugging at his pyjama sleeve.

'Yes, run along before they catch sight of the Mudblood. Underage and on her own too… they'll have her up to join the others and flipped about to show the world in about three –'

Both Harry and Ron made a dive for Malfoy – Ron swearing and Harry's hand whipping to his pocket for a curse – but Hermione yanked both back by their collars so hard that Harry nearly retched.

'Leave him, you arses,' she hissed. 'Can't you see he just wants you to –'

An explosion sounded from the mob, nearer still. Several onlookers screamed. Malfoy chuckled.

'Let's go,' Hermione insisted, towing the boys into deeper cover.

Ron massaged his neck ruefully. 'You might've let me land _one_ , Hermione, before you went all high hippogriff on us…'

She scoffed. 'And have Lucius Malfoy come after you when you attack his son right under his nose?'

'He wasn't there, was he?' Ron grumbled.

'No,' Harry agreed with a significant look. 'And something tells me he wasn't out trying to get the Roberts family down, either.'

Ron spat. 'Course he wasn't. They're probably both with the nutters in masks… My father always said Lucius Malfoy was right in You-Know-Who's inner circle…'

Hermione glanced about nervously. 'Yes, well. Perhaps now isn't the best time for… Oh, where _have_ the others got to?'

Harry joined her fruitless scan of the blackened trees. 'Maybe if we – oof!'

He staggered and fell as a huddle of teenagers came hurdling round a bend, colliding directly with them. Harry slammed hard into the ground, knocking his glasses from his face. As they struggled to right each other through a tangle of limbs and Harry felt around half-blind, a girl with a long mane of thick, curly auburn hair grasped Hermione's hands.

'Ou est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avone perdue –'

'Ouch!' Harry hissed as he came upon the glasses – only to find that one lens had badly cracked against a stone. Hermione reached over to repair them before he could ask, and the French girl's face swam into view at last. He gave a start.

'Vivienne?'

''Arry!'

'You know him?' Ron asked in surprise, giving a hand to one of the others, who Harry now recognised as Jan.

'We met at Beauxbatons, earlier this summer,' Harry explained, turning to make introductions. 'This is –'

'Harry,' Céleste interrupted. 'Have you seen Sofia? We thought perhaps Madame Maxime…'

Harry looked round. 'No… sorry, I –'

She started babbling frantically at Jan in French, and the group of them tore off again through the woods before Harry could call after. He frowned, watching the retreat.

'Who's Sofia?' asked Hermione.

'Who are _they_?' added Ron. 'Bit rude – running off like –'

Harry told them briefly about their summer meeting. 'Sofia's the youngest… she wasn't even twelve when I met her. If she's got separated…'

Another bang echoed through the trees. Ron glanced warily at Hermione. 'We'll look for her, mate. But we'd better get further into cover ourselves.'

The other Weasleys were nowhere to be seen, though the French group was hardly the last they came across as they wended their way deeper into the trees. They met a disgruntled-looking Bagman, who seemed to have no idea of the chaos at the campsite, several other foreign teenagers, drunken men singing an Irish song as they meandered… but no sign of Sofia or any of their own companions. As the forest grew thicker about them, Hermione's wandlight proved less and less able to warn of impending ruts and branches.

'This is mad,' Ron groaned, wrenching his own wand from his pocket to light. 'How far in do you reckon they could have –'

'I – hold up!' Harry cried, slightly panicked. He felt the pocket again, and his outer robe…

'What's –'

'My wand!' he moaned, taking the cloak straight off to pat it down. 'I can't believe it… I've lost my wand!'

'You can't have!' Ron scoffed, holding his own higher to spread the beam along the ground like a torch.

The three of them searched around fruitlessly for several minutes.

'Maybe it's back in the tent?' Hermione suggested.

'Nah – didn't you pull it to have a go at Malfoy?'

'I…' Harry thought back. _Had_ he got as far as to draw his wand before Hermione stopped them? 'I'm not sure…'

'It could have fallen from your pocket,' Hermione reasoned. 'Perhaps back by Malfoy, or when we ran into that Beauxbatons lot. You keep looking here, Harry. Ron can run back and check the path where we are fell, and I'll look in the copse where Malfoy –'

' _I'll_ check by Malfoy,' Ron cut in vehemently. 'You check the Bobbatton –'

'It's _Beauxbatons_ , Ron. And I'm perfectly capable of handling Malfoy.'

'And if that lot comes after you? You're _Muggle-born_ , Hermione!'

'So I should let you go after –'

' _Harry Potter_ …'

Harry froze in his crouch at the edge of the path, where he had been continuing his search while the others bickered. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He knew that voice…

He squinted into the darkness. Though the woods had been peppered with panicked figures the past half hour, somehow the three of them seemed to have managed to find themselves isolated. The boughs of the trees bent and swayed, tunnelling around him in a trick of the dark. The woods echoed with the eerily faint out-of-sight riots. But Harry could discern no sinister figure among the branches.

'Harry?'

A hand landed on his shoulder. He glanced quickly up before returning to his search, feeling more exposed than ever without his wand. But then, he supposed, if the man had truly been here…

The fingers tightened.

'What is it?'

'I thought I heard…. It doesn't matter,' Harry dismissed, hoping the words were true. He pushed himself off the ground, brushing leaves from his pyjama trousers. 'Forget the wand for now – we shouldn't separate.'

'Where _did_ Fred and George get to?' Ron wondered aloud, looking about as though one of the twins might jump from a tree. 'And Ginny – she was right next to us.'

Hermione frowned at Harry. 'Are you sure you're –'

A sudden rustling noise made Harry's heart jump straight to his throat. He yanked Hermione about with so much force that she cried out, stepping forward so he was between his friends and the edge of the path… Forgetting, for an instant, that he was the _least_ equipped to deal with a threat at the moment…

But it was not the man from Edinburgh who stepped from the trees.

It was Winky.

'There is bad wizards… very bad wizards is marching!' she squeaked. 'They is putting people high, high in the air!' She was shuffling almost, moving forward with great effort as though against a wall of water. Harry wondered that at her pace he had not caught sight or sound of her earlier. Like in the top box, there was a strange aura about her – and he was more certain than ever that it was Elvish magic he could sense.

Hermione tried to call after her, but Winky either did not hear or was too distracted to reply. She crossed the path and disappeared into the trees opposite, panting and squeaking as she fought the invisible hand that appeared to be holding her back.

Harry felt almost giddy with the adrenalin rush. Ron shook his head, looking after her. 'Oddest creature. Why's she moving like Charlie after the pubs?'

'Probably didn't have permission to leave the tent,' Harry guessed.

Hermione scoffed. 'It's such an absurd, backwards system, isn't it? Those poor creatures are essentially magical slaves! Mr Crouch should be ashamed, bewitching her to put herself at risk just because _he_ prefers a hot meal and his pillows fluffed when –'

'Ah, that's not fair, is it?' Ron interrupted. 'House-elves are happy enough. It's what they like, being bossed about.'

'Dobby didn't!' Hermione retorted. 'Harry – back me up.'

Harry rubbed his hand over the nape of his neck, where his hair refused to stop prickling. 'Er… yeah, that's true about Dobby,' he agreed. 'But it's a bit more complicated than that. He's a bit of an outlier, I reckon. The elves at the castle would rather walk through glass than leave their jobs.'

'Their _slavery_ , you mean,' Hermione hissed. And that's only because they don't know any better.'

'In any event, there was definitely magic holding Winky back,' Harry redirected. 'It seemed Elvish, I think. Different than other magic.'

Hermione's expression faded from fury to confusion. She raised her eyebrows. 'What do you mean?'

Harry shrugged. 'There's different… sensations, I suppose. All wizards are different, but this didn't feel _human_ at all, you know? Hard to explain. Well, Albus could explain it better than I –'

'Is this the moment for a magical theory lesson?' Ron cut in. As if on cue, another loud bang rung from the edge of the wood. 'Let's keep moving.'

Though he knew it was fruitless, Harry kept running a hand over his various pockets as they slunk through the trees. By unspoken agreement, they moved stealthier than they had yet done and in total silence. This, Harry supposed, was the reason he jumped so badly when they came across a group of goblins cackling over a sack of gold, and minutes later a gathering of ambitious young men chatting up several Veela. One, a willowy blonde with striking almond eyes, caught Harry's gaze as they passed the copse. She tossed her long hair so that the rays of the moon made it look as though it were spun from silver.

He walked straight into Ron, who had stopped. 'Did I tell you I've invented a broomstick that'll reach Jupiter?'

'Come on, you idiot,' Hermione snapped, grabbing one of Ron's arms. Harry took the other so they might haul him from his courting.

The Veela and their admirers seemed to be the last loitering in this particular stretch of wood. The other Weasleys, Harry suspected, must have gone another route – for the three of them were quite alone again. He glanced around.

'You know – I reckon we've come in far enough,' he told the others.

Ron scuffed the toe of his trainer against the ground and pulled the figurine of Krum from his pocket. It mumbled at him in surly Bulgarian until he set it to walk, duck-footed as its model, along the decaying leaves. Harry watched it in silence, straining his ears for sounds from the campsite.

'I hope the others are alright,' said Hermione, sticking her wand between her teeth so she could pull up her hair. 'It's odd we didn't meet up with them again.'

'They'll be fine,' Ron assured her. 'It's everyone back at the campsite I'm worried about.'

'I hope your dad _does_ catch Lucius Malfoy,' said Harry, dropping down on the forest floor to watch Krum sulk with Ron. 'Imagine Draco's reaction…'

Ron chuckled darkly. Hermione worried her lip. 'What about the Roberts?'

'They'll get them down,' Ron promised. 'Mad of them, really, to even try something like this when the whole Ministry's out for the match.'

'Except the ones after Sirius,' Harry reminded him.

Hermione shook her head. 'It _is_ mad. Do you think they've just been drinking, or –'

She broke off, glancing over her shoulder. Harry had heard it too. The cracking of branches, rustling of leaves… someone staggering through the wood toward their clearing. He pushed himself upright in sync with Ron, wishing he had his own wand to draw. The footsteps halted as he gained his feet.

The three of them stared at the darkness. He could sense it, though he could not see – a figure hovering just beyond.

'Who's there?' Harry demanded.

For a moment, only the silence replied. And then a voice rang through the trees. Not a shout, not a scream; but a confident, echoing spell cast in a voice Harry recognised. It sent chills to his very marrow.

 _'MORSMORDRE!_ '

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Twenty-Six**

 **Leonore** : Thank you! Very glad you enjoyed Le Cri de Coeur, and I hope you will also like this latest instalment.

 **Lost** : Thanks for reviewing! No – I'd never abandon this story… even when it takes me two months to post an update (though hopefully that is the exception rather than the rule). I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

 **Guest** : Thank you so much for reviewing again! Always lovely to hear from you. And thank you :) – we're excited to meet the new little one in July. We have decided not to find out whether it is a boy or a girl this time either, which I think will be both terrifying and exciting! And thank you so much for your offer. I will definitely keep it in mind, especially as things get madder around here.

Ah, Cho's mum. Yes – it has everything to do with her being a Seer, and the price of magic. It will resurface, I promise. As to Albus and Moody… well, Albus does rather get away with whatever he likes (at least in the earlier novels); but I think the lack of fuss is more to do with the fact Harry Potter is involved (since the Ministry believe he is Black's target), and Albus has always been the end-word on Harry Potter-related decisions. Surely it must have raised some eyebrows, however.

Oooh – I'm so glad you asked about Newt's little trick in Paris! That is a bit of sorcery that has preyed on my mind many a time since the film; and in no small part because I think one could argue he learns a bit _too_ much – taking the laws of magic to places they had arguably never been before. But I have big, _big_ thoughts on what this was, and why it worked specifically in that instance, though may not work always… and I promise that we'll be going into something similar in COH, because it has (or _had?_ ) a role to play. For now, I shall say that I think what Newt does with the golden dust is more about illuminating a magical _imprint_ than actual tracking (apart from the charm on the feather, which is definitely a tracking spell and which I believe works because the feather belonged to Kama and to which we've seen some parallels in COH already). So there's tracking – one method of which is by enchanting an object belonging to someone (which has limitations but is effective – we'll go into detail later) – and then there's scrying magics. Scrying is considered much darker, because it involves the use of a piece of someone's actual being (their blood, for example) to work. We saw this pop up in Part II a few times. Remus/Minerva suggest using scrying magic to locate Peter Pettigrew after Sirius' true allegiances are revealed in Albus' office. Albus does not speak against this, but Sirius laments that it won't work. Snape explains that the Dark Mark is enchanted with certain magics – and one such magic is that it protects its wearers from _most_ scrying magic. We actually see Snape use a form of Scrying earlier in the book as well – when he uses one of Lily's hairs to locate Harry after he has run away from Privet Drive. When doing this, Snape recollects that it is lucky he is 'firmly in the grey' – though, of course, most magic isn't really 'light' or 'dark' by nature, but by reputation.

Ah… I'm going a bit tangential. But as to Remus, it is a lucky side-effect that as his lycanthropy changes his literal molecular make-up, magics that are designed for use on _wizards_ do not always work on him. Similar effects would apply to those who are born of or descended form inter-special relationships and thus have built-in immunity (like Hagrid, e.g., as a half-giant, or Flitwick, who has goblin ancestry). Incidentally, scrying would also fail on Nagini.

Oooo – Dolores is going to be so much fun! Well, no… but she will be awfully fun to hate.

Ah, Harry's frustratingly kept in the dark here… it must be Tuesday ;). It is the epitome of Harry's pet hates, but such is the lot of most fourteen-year-olds I suppose. And insatiable curiosity and a bit of a 'saving people thing' will win out nearly every time. As to Bill… well, that _has_ made me gleeful that you've picked up on this. Harry specifically told Hermione and Ron it was to be kept quiet, so no – not something Ron would have shared. And he did not get the knowledge from Dumbledore either.

Minerva does use wandless magic, but what Harry thinks on here is that she seems more inclined to wield a wand. It's just her personal preference, rather than a reflection on her skill; and the more common personal preference of European-trained wizards. COH has done a great deal with wandless magic and we've seen quite a bit practised, but it's still more usual for wizards in Britain – even the most powerful – to use a wand more often than not. Minerva, who is so precise in everything she does and prefers orderly magic, just prefers the focused power of wanded spellwork as her usual method (or, at least, in my head I feel she probably would). But I'm sure, as a practised and extremely studied witch, she would have mastered wandless spellwork as early and as thoroughly as she could.

Definitely some of the titbits dropped in this chapter will return… most especially Bill's current struggles with mentoring and masters.

I love Bathilda! I initially had planned to introduce her just for a short visit back in the early drafts of Part II… but I enjoyed her so much that I worked her in to play a greater role in the story. She is getting on in years, yes – but she hasn't lost her abilities or her mind. I can't promise her survival, of course (we shall see), but she's sticking around for the immediate future at least. I can't comment on her isolation and/or socialisation without giving too much away. The cataract question is interesting. Yes, there are definitely things that can be done to correct them in the Magical world – just as in the Muggle, although there are limits to what medicine can do in the long term for cataracts – but I've always found eye ailments interesting in the Wizarding realm. I suppose it is because wizards, according to JKR and essentially followed in COH, can 'cure' (instantly or through a bit of time) almost any usual (Muggle) ailment, though magical injuries and illnesses can be permanent/fatal or much more difficult to treat. The one glaring exception to this rule appears to be eye-based: cataracts make a few appearances in canon (Bathilda among them), and many wizards (Harry, Dumbledore and Minerva all included) wear glasses.

In any case, glad you enjoyed Bathilda here, and thank you for the note on the pyjamas/robes. That was an unintentional continuity error, and I shall correct it to pyjamas in Chapter 25 when I post the new chapter. Poor Sirius… he _is_ very ill, but yes – it's the effects of the night and the Malaclaw. The cup is perhaps something I referenced a bit too subtly, but he is referring to the teacup with the 'off-centre' lipstick stain that Marley left out the morning of the day she was killed (I think it originally came up in Part II, Chapter 17 'The Memories', and resurfaced in his fevered thoughts two chapters ago in 'Broken Dolls'). It's story does not have much significance beyond its symbolic meaning to Sirius. As to the most important question, I feel I can answer this one now as it's not really a spoiler any longer: Remus failed to ask whether the Sirius was bitten by the Malaclaw. Malaclaw's cause a nasty fever and rash if they are ingested. But it is the bite of the beast that causes a week's unluckiness.

I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

 **Estel Ashleep Snape** : Thank you for reviewing! Happy to hear that you're still enjoying the story, and I hope you'll like the latest instalment!

 **Bryanjames** : Thanks for your review and encouragement! I hope you like the new chapter – and I promise that though life can certainly be distracting and at times delaying, I will continue to work on this story at every opportunity. I am very happy to hear that you're still enjoying!


	28. Un Mauvais Quart d'Heure

**A/N:** Much love to you all, and enjoy the new chapter! The next one, I am pleased to say, will be along in a week or so.

As always…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

 **Un Mauvais Quart d'Heure**

By the time they reached the mob, it had swollen considerably. A few others had stayed to help. But most of the campsite, it appeared, had fled either into the trees or into the jeering crowd. The dark mass moved in a slow march, like some macabre funeral procession, spellwork sending glints of light off their golden masks

The three brothers halted in unison on the edge of an embankment twenty yards away. Percy affixed his glasses to his nose with a hurried charm, while Charlie rolled the sleeves of his robes. His burly forearms were tanned and already peppered with scars. Bill scanned the fight below with narrowed eyes, searching for a weak point.

'The Aurors ought to be here,' Charlie criticised, also surveying the mob below. ' _All_ the Aurors. If they hadn't been wasting their resources all afternoon…'

'The Aurors _are_ here,' said Percy indignantly. 'We saw three just ahead of us. And I don't doubt the Minister has sent for appropriate reinforcements.'

'Not enough,' Bill warned in a dark whisper. He had been counting heads by the light of the many wands as he attempted to plot their entry into the fray.

So, apparently, had Charlie. 'There have to be over a hundred… and two dozen in the middle there – the ones doing it all. The ones in the masks.'

'Death Eaters,' Bill finished for him. 'Got to be.'

'Don't borrow trouble, Bill.' Their father had arrived beside them, panting slightly. He too surveyed the scene with a grim set to his jaw. 'Right then – let's go.'

He led the way at a clip, wand drawn as he shouted a hex at one of the masked figures attempting to set another tent aflame. The three boys followed, Bill sliding down the hillside like a cricketer. Their entry was hardly noted by either side in the confusion of shouting and light. The song of battle filled the night, and Bill's blood raced in refrain.

'Arthur – over here!' a tall witch that Bill recognised as one of the Aurors that had run by them earlier shouted, struggling to maintain a shield charm as she hailed reinforcements. Percy hurried to assist, and Arthur neatly blocked a curse fired at one of her companions.

Bill grabbed Charlie by the elbow and the pair of them hustled to the other side, where a slew of Ministry wizards and a few spectators were engaged with a dozen masked foes. One gave a high-pitched cackle as he sent a slight wizard flying with a hex.

' _Stupefy_!' Bill cried. The cackling wizard fell into his nearest ally, and the latter was forced to release his spell on another Ministry witch to revive him.

' _Incarcerous_!' Charlie shouted at a third, but the spell was parried before it could reach its target. Charlie snarled. ' _Bombard-_ '

'No!' Bill interrupted. He flung out an arm to jolt his brother's wand up. 'Nothing that might hit the Muggles…'

Charlie growled in frustration and sent a Stunner instead.

They battled to a stalemate for what seemed like hours, wizards falling and rising on both sides, until Bill's wand arm ached from its constant exercise and his face was smattered with drizzle, sweat and the blood of a dozen friends and adversaries. He wondered when the mass duel would turn deadly… but, so far, it seemed neither side aimed to kill.

' _Crucio_!'

Bill rolled to the grass to avoid the Unforgivable and Charlie dragged him up, swearing. 'They're using Unforgivables!' he hissed. 'What are we supposed to –'

' _Expelliarmus_!'

The wand of the would-be curser went flying over their heads, before being promptly trampled by another group joining the melee. Bill nodded grimly to their rescuer, Bode.

'I know,' he whispered at his brother. 'But we haven't a choice.'

He turned, slashing another hex at the tallest of the masked wizards. This time the spell made contact, and the Death Eater bellowed as he was knocked to the ground, his face swelling behind the golden mask. Bill strained to glimpse it as he pulled off the disguise in a desperate attempt for relief… but another cloaked figure hastened to guard his view.

Charlie had caught one by the hem of his cloak, dragging him Muggle-style from the protection of the mob. He tossed him on the grass in fury, disarming him as he fell. He reached to wrench the mask aside…

And Bill saw the man's hands close over the wand so recently pressed into the mud.

'Charlie – no! _Stupe-_ '

' _Sectumsempra_!'

Bill dived, hurling Charlie roughly out of the way of the curse. He fell with a yell to the ground, just as Bill felt searing pain rip through his arm.

' _Petrificus Totalis_!' he gasped through the wave of agony. Blood and light hit the man together, and he crashed like a board to the earth.

'You idiot – I had it covered,' Charlie grumbled. He pushed himself to his knees and shrugged off Bill's hand.

'He could have killed you!' Bill shot back furiously.

'Let me see your arm –'

Bill pressed his opposite hand over the gaping wound. 'It's fine. Just a scratch. Take his –'

But the masked man had vanished in their moment of distraction… pulled out of reach by one of his cohorts.

'Get off it,' Bill insisted, shoving Charlie's assistance away again and parrying a Stunner.

'Bill…'

But Charlie was interrupted. A high, piercing cry echoed through the air, and a sudden hush fell over the duelling crowd as though Dumbledore himself had spelled them so. Faces – masked and pale and bloodied alike – turned toward the sky above the distant woods, mouths agape and eyes wide. And Bill turned too.

It was almost beautiful, twinkling in the sky above them in a constellation of miniscule lights brighter than any star. From whence it had erupted Bill could not tell, but it hovered at the caps of the pines as if birthed by the very trees – a beacon and a threat in one. He had never witnessed it cast before, but he knew enough of history to have seen the Dark Mark in the pages of a thousand written nightmares. Even as the mob watched in frozen fear below, it rose higher and higher in the night sky, casting all natural stars it touched into darkness.

For a long yet infinitesimal moment, all chaos ceased in the emerald glare.

Then the screams began. The masked figures fled, Disapparating through the Ministry's shattered wards before the officials and their makeshift allies could move to intercept and snatching fallen companions from the ground as they vanished. Three of the Aurors closest to the centre of the fray lunged forward with wands outstretched, slowing the Robertses in their sudden plummet to earth. A contingent of twenty Ministry wizards – their father among them – disappeared in swirls of robes in pursuit of the new worst perpetrator...

And the entire scene quieted as though it had been little more than a mauvais quart d'heure.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun had set long ago. The sea grass on the hillside rolled and rippled with the gathering wind, tall reeds singing eerily off one another. The first of the waning moons struggled in vain overhead as it gave its best effort to shine through thick crowds that were threatening a storm. Sirius nearly collapsed on their Apparition, and Albus' forearms strained to support him. They staggered down the narrow path. In the ominous shadows of the night, the usually cheery cottage looked almost as a tombstone set against the darkened cliffs.

'Thank Merlin, Albus! You've been hours.'

Minerva had obviously been watching. She threw open the door before Albus could reach for the knocker, some of her hair falling loose from its bun in her agitation.

'Sirius!' she continued before Albus could reply. She took his face between her hands. It was only now that the headmaster realised his companion had fallen semi-conscious again.

'You poor dear. Come Albus, set him inside.'

'That was my intention,' Albus assured with the hint of a smile. But he accepted her help, and together they hauled Sirius into the sitting room and onto one of the over-sized sofas.

'Remus?'

'He's gone up to bath,' said Minerva, who was now conjuring several thick blankets. She put the tip of her wand to Sirius' brow to test his temperature. 'Shall I fetch Poppy?'

Albus shook his head. 'I don't think it will be necessary. Malaclaw fever, unfortunately, is best healed only with time and rest. He can have another antipyretic when he wakens, and a balm should ease the rash. But he mainly needs sleep.'

Minerva rung her hands. 'Someone ought to sit up with him. Remus is done in and needs rest of his own. I suppose I could –'

'No, Minerva. I shall stay,' Albus interrupted.

She frowned. 'You've been halfway round the country today, Albus. Do you think it's wise to –'

'I shall need to speak to Remus about Fudge,' he reminded her. 'The inquiry must be answered with due haste. I would take him tonight, but with the Quidditch final…'

'No, no, nobody will be prepared to hear you before morning,' Minerva agreed. 'Ireland won the Cup, by the way.' She nodded at a wireless in the corner. It's dials still twirled in an array of colours, but she had muted the sound.

'Good… very good,' said Albus distractedly. He did not think he had ever cared less what occurred in a Quidditch match. 'Any word from Arthur?'

'Nothing since this afternoon. But I'm sure –'

Whatever Minerva had been sure about, however, it went unrevealed. Her comments were interrupted by a clattering on the staircase. Remus appeared, somewhat bedraggled, with his hair still wet and his nightshirt inside out.

'Albus! _Sirius!_ '

He rushed into the room and would have dived onto the sofa and his insensate friend, had Albus not stopped him firmly with both hands on his shoulders. Even so, Sirius stirred at the sound of Remus' entreaty.

'Mo-Moony?'

His voice was husky with exhaustion, and his eyes did not open. But Remus gave a half-sob of relief and broke free of Albus' slacked grip to throw himself to his knees at Sirius' head. As Minerva had, he took Sirius' face between both his palms. Sirius protested the jostling with a groan. But he opened clouded grey eyes at last.

Remus growled. 'You… are an utter prat with a penchant for recklessness that will get us all killed.'

Sirius gave a weak smile. 'Aye. But at least I'm not a human-eating monster.'

Remus laughed, before dropping his head so his forehead rested against Sirius' chest. His arms wrapped round to close him in a semi-hug – hampered by Sirius' recline and Minerva's copious coverings. For a moment Sirius laughed with him… until Remus' humour died away. His head still bowed against his friend; his shoulders began shaking with silent sobs.

Sirius suddenly looked much more awake, pushing himself up so he could pat Remus awkwardly on the back.

'Remus… don't, Remus! I'm fine, alright? Everything's fine…'

Remus gave no discernible response, but continued to blubber into the blankets. Sirius shot Albus a desperate glance.

The headmaster cleared his throat. 'Come, Remus,' he suggested, setting his own hand on the wizard's shoulder. 'Let us fix some tea. I dare say we could all use it. Minerva – would you see to the potions?'

Remus allowed himself to be pulled off Sirius' chest at last, and Albus led him by the elbow into the kitchen to compose himself. As the little door swung behind them, he could hear Minerva start her own lecture.

'Sit,' he suggested, pulling a stool out with a wave of his hand. 'And compose yourself. Nothing has been destroyed this day.'

Remus half-fell onto the seat, wiping a hand at his dripping nose. Albus gave him a moment to collect himself while he perused the cupboards.

'The leaves are in that tin there,' Remus offered in a thick voice. 'And the kettle is –'

'Do remember it _is_ my house,' Albus reminded him.

Remus flushed. 'Of course. I didn't mean to…'

'A jest, Remus,' Albus assured, twinkling over his spectacles as he summoned four tea cups. 'Though perhaps poorly timed, as you do look as though you could use a Calming Draught. It has been a difficult twenty-four hours for all.'

Remus shook his head but Albus, already pulling a phial from mid-air, gave him a meaningful look. He tapped the kettle with his wand, and it began to sing. While the tea leaves stewed, he sat himself at the countertop as well and passed the phial to Remus. The latter grimaced, but downed the dose in one go.

'Sirius will be fine,' Albus assured him, vanishing the empty potion. 'The worst of the illness has passed, and he will be on his feet again in a few days.'

'I know,' Remus whispered. 'But it was so close, Albus. If you hadn't arrived; if Bathilda hadn't come across him…'

Albus smiled. 'I have found that a lifetime may easily pass while one ponders dire consequences that might have been. It is a fine line between learning from past mistakes and dwelling on them, Remus. And we have far too many difficulties to face in the present to waste our energies combatting those we have been lucky enough to avoid.'

Remus drummed his fingers on the countertop. 'I should not have left him alone. I should _not_ have –'

'And should a similar situation present itself in future, you will not,' said Albus. 'But he has returned now, and for the moment his position has stabilised. It is yours, my boy, of which we must speak.'

The drumming increased its pace. Albus shot an unspoken charm at the closed swinging door.

'I did not think it wise to have such conversation in front of Sirius,' Albus continued delicately. 'It will not help his current indisposition, and I rather fear –'

'No,' Remus agreed. He stopped tapping the granite, gripping its edge instead. 'No, he cannot know. He will want to help. And if he should become involved…'

Albus nodded. 'Precisely my point. Tomorrow, we shall need to go to the Ministry together.'

'And tell them what, Dumbledore?' Remus asked desperately. 'They know…'

He shook his head. 'They do _not_ know, Remus. They suspect. And suspicions are not proof. We will go together. You shall explain the delay with your convalescence – recovering from the moon is more than enough reason to miss out an owl. That you had contacted me about it will not surprise the Ministry.'

'But Sirius; I can hardly argue I was attempting to stop him, Albus. Not if they have Muggle witnesses…'

'Witnesses who saw only a werewolf, Remus. They cannot _prove_ it was you. And that is where I shall step in. I will say you were on assignment for me at the time, preparing to assist Alastor in the transition to teach. You will say you took the transformation at the castle, under the influence of Wolfsbane Potion I had provided. And I shall assert there is no possibility you left the castle without my notice.'

Remus' eyes widened. 'It is too big a risk, Albus. I can't let you –'

'Cornelius will not dare to challenge my word,' Albus disagreed. 'Not yet, at least. I doubt it shall erase all suspicion… but we should be able to avert disaster, now Sirius is safely returned. With any luck, Kingsley will be forced to head the inquiry, as it is he who currently fronts the task force in charge of the hunt for Sirius.' He smiled ruefully. 'It is fortunate you were not the one to ingest Mackled Malaclaw.'

He squeezed Remus' shoulder and rose from the stool to collect the tea. When they re-entered the sitting room, Sirius was looking a bit more awake, wrapped in Minerva's blankets and smiling as he took a cup from Remus. Minerva herself had started a roaring fire, tidied her hair, and now rocked in a corner chair.

'Shall we put the wireless on and hear the recap of the match?' Albus suggested, keen to drive away the remaining tension.

They others agreed, and they sat in companionable silence, sipping at the tea and sharing a plate of cold meats while the highlights of play and Ludo Bagman's commentary were analysed by several international experts. Sirius dozed off again after a fashion. Remus too grew drowsy, and after some prodding Albus convinced him to go up to bed. Minerva – despite her fanaticism for sport – was not long in following suit. When she too was snoring in the rocking chair, Albus lifted her gently with a charm and levitated her up the stairs to the back bedroom they had shared before.

He returned alone to the sitting room. Unwilling to wake Sirius and even less keen to cast more magic upon him, he transfigured the sofa into a large bed instead. He rested his palm gently upon the man's brow. Though the unpleasant green visage and traces of fever lingered, it was much cooler than before.

He was tired. Exhausted, even. The call of sleep grew louder in the now nearly silent cottage, but something in him resisted its pull. The carriage clock ticked a beat against the inside of his skull. The logs of the fire rolled and shifted, and he began to see phantom faces in their shadows. He walked the beach wood floor instead. The room was ill-suited to restless pacing. Poseidon's eyes tracked him, gilded in the centre of the grand mantelpiece. Albus found himself at last facing the wall of windows – mirrors, now, against the blackness of the sky. He had to come within inches of the glass before his own aged reflection gave way to the sea beyond, and found he was glad to have the evidence of careworn eyes and drawn features obscured. He leant against it with one hand on each side of a vast pane.

Soft rain fell on the veranda, making tiny rivulets in wood cracked by the sun. A toad hopped hopefully across them, but the damp air had driven away the summer moths for the night. Even as he watched, an owl swooped from the sky to claim it.

But… no. The talons of this owl were otherwise occupied. Albus flung open the side door before the bird could rap against it. He alighted on the back of Minerva's erstwhile chair, hooting softly in alarm as it began to rock beneath him before jumping up to the mantel instead. Albus unwound the twine from his foreleg. The owl did not take flight again, but waited for the headmaster's perusal of the letter.

His brows drew together as he read, all vestiges of exhaustion melting away as new concern moved in to fill its place.

His immediate thought was to forget a reply; to wake Minerva to come sit with his charge here and Apparate forthwith… take Harry from the scene of terror, and return him to the castle that would be sanctuary as long as he could keep it. The child should not be left to see the aftermath of cruelty. He had seen far too much already, for one so young. What if it brought a resurgence of nightmares? What if he was visited by Lord Voldemort in dreams, and woke in fear or fever, far from the comfort of home? What if – despite Arthur's assurance's herein – Harry had been harmed already in the chaos?

And what of the one who had cast the Mark… or the mob of dozens who had once answered its call?

'Albus?'

Sirius shifted on the sofa made bed, pushing himself up onto an elbow. His eyes had taken on a glassy sheen once more, and high spots of colour burned on his cheeks. 'Albus – what's wrong?'

The headmaster looked at him for a long moment.

The shadow of night had birthed fears not tempered by reason. There was no sign to suggest tonight's escapades had been even tangentially aimed at The Boy Who Lived, whether or not the former Death Eaters had known he was in attendance. And as to whoever had conjured the Dark Mark… well, he doubted it might have been an elf. But there would be dozens on watch, hunting through the night. Harry was with four fully qualified wizards, two actively engaged with the reforming Order. He had surely been in danger feet from the perpetrator in the forest… yet whoever it had been, he had not struck Harry. Arthur would, no doubt, remove them all at first light. He would have surely done it tonight, had he and the others not been confident that the danger was over.

And before him sat the more urgent task. In this house lay one man with fever and another too exhausted for sense… and Minerva could not be expected to handle the fall-out with the Ministry. Nor did he entirely trust that Sirius and Remus together would not act rashly in that regard – not with the influence of the Malaclaw still preying on their vulnerabilities.

He was the general in this coming war. He had responsibilities, burdens that could not be laid to one side or forgotten in sentiment. Harry was fourteen. The years of peace grew fewer, and evil stronger. And Albus needed no vanquished enemy to remind him what he knew; the commitment he had made so long ago.

Yet voice reverberated in his head, taunting him again all the same.

 _It is difficult, is it not… it calluses your precious soul…_

He could not fight all Harry's battles for him, however he may wish it so. He had never been able to keep those he loved from all harm.

He smiled. 'Nothing. Merely tidings from a friend.'

He conjured a quill from the air, scribbling a hasty reply to the missive. He fastened it to the owl with a wave of his hand, and the bird flew off through the open door. Albus shut it slowly, feeling eyes on his back. 'Go back to sleep, Sirius.'

'I can't.'

Albus looked more closely at him, taking in the rosy cheeks. 'You may have another draught if you –'

Sirius shook his head. 'It isn't the fever. It's just…' he paused, giving Albus a guilty grimace. 'Did you see him tonight? Remus? He was so… happy.'

Albus smiled. 'Naturally. As I have told you, you gave us all quite a fright.'

Sirius sighed. 'I know, and I'm sorry. And I am glad you found me. I am. I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if it had gone wrong – if I'd been sent back, or worse. What it would have done to him…'

'Not only to him,' the headmaster reminded him gently. 'To Harry, to Minerva, to me… there are many who care for you, child. You must not forget that.'

Sirius nodded vaguely, but his expression was far away – almost wistful. When he spoke again, his voice was nearly too soft to hear. 'You're right, and I know it. But I see them all the time. Marley, Lily, James… Sean, Frank, even my – my brother. Reg.' He took a shaking breath. 'All the time, Albus. They have never been so vivid as they are now, when the veil between life and delirium has grown so thin.'

'It is the illness talking, Sirius,' said Albus, coming to sit on the edge of Sirius' bed as, so many times these past years, he had done for a much smaller boy suffering dreams all the more fearful for their truth. 'It shall be easier again, when you are returned to your strength.'

He heard a faint creaking on the staircase, and knew from the hesitancy of the footfalls that Minerva hesitated just out of sight.

Sirius did not seem to notice. 'I'm not sure I want it to fade,' he admitted, the whisper even fainter. 'Sometimes it's all I desire – that the pain of it will end. That I might move _on_ with my life, but… It isn't all terrible, dreaming of them. Especially not now. It's almost as though I am living an alternate life; and then I wake. And they're gone. And I keep thinking, I can't _help_ thinking… what if I just didn't? What if I stayed there, with them? If I just let go…'

'My dear boy,' Albus lamented softly. With gentle fingers, he brushed back the sweaty fringe that had fallen into Sirius' eyes. 'Life is a constant struggle between holding on and letting go, just as it is an everlasting battle between who you think you are and who you are meant to become.'

Sirius closed his eyes beneath the headmaster's touch. 'And who is that, Albus?' he questioned quietly. 'Who am I meant to become, in the wake of so much loss?'

'That is not for me to decide,' said Albus. 'But of two things I am quite certain. You shall find your path only by continuing along it. And in doing so, you shall never lose the love of those who are gone. So do not despair for the dead, child. It is only through living that we might honour them.'

Sirius nodded against Albus' hand, still set upon his cheek. A single tear leaked from the corner of his eye. Albus smiled sadly down at him and moved his palm to the man's brow.

'Now sleep, Sirius. Sleep…'

He felt the face relax beneath his hand. He held it there a moment longer, though the magic had finished its work. From the shadows, Minerva crept into the room.

'I must admit that trick works better on him than it ever seems to with Harry,' she whispered with a small smile.

Albus' own was wry. 'Yes. But Harry is young and full of energy. Sirius' strength – both magical and physical – has been utterly spent.'

'So I could hear,' she agreed. She swept behind him and set her hands on his shoulders, bending to kiss the top of his head. 'Won't you come up to bed?'

He sighed. 'I daren't – not while there is still a chance he could wake in confusion. 'But you should return, Minnie. There is little sense in two engaged in sleepless vigil.'

She sighed, though he could tell she had known the entreaty would prove fruitless. She pointed her wand at the opposite sofa, conjuring a second set of tartan blankets and several pillows.

'Stay, if you must play the lonely martyr,' she teased, brushing his cheek with her hand. 'But I see no reason you might not kip at least.'

She kissed him and left, dressing gown rustling softly as it hit each step in her wake. Albus relented and transferred himself to the second sofa. He drew one of her blankets over his legs. He could not remember the last time he had rested thus. In the intervening years of peace and untroubled nights, it seemed his back had aged enough to protest the lack of a feather mattress most assiduously. But he dared not risk the comfort of a second transfigured bed.

Sirius rolled once against his pillows. Albus froze a moment, wondering if he ought to have dosed the wizard again before enchanting him to sleep. But Sirius merely sighed and slumbered on, his face relaxed of the many creases Albus was sure were more pronounced in his own than ever. Exhaustion pummelled him again, and suddenly it was as if his very marrow had turned to lead.

Perhaps just an hour, or two, would not be such an imposition. He had set monitoring charms, after all…

And Albus Dumbledore at last shut his eyes, oblivious to the world in moments.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Stop fussing, Charlie, and do something useful,' Bill insisted, swatting his brother's hand away. 'Go and put the kettle on.'

Charlie scowled. He skulked into the kitchenette, slamming the pots about. Bill caught Percy's eye and rolled his own.

'You could be a bit more thankful that I even want to look after you, you daft gnome,' Charlie grumbled over the tea leaves. 'What in Merlin's name were you thinking, Bill? I had it covered just fine.'

'Didn't look like it from where I was standing,' Bill disagreed, shrugging.

Charlie's snarl got louder. 'Well, I _did_ ,' he contended. 'And what's more –'

'Hang on,' Percy interrupted. 'Is that dad?'

The brothers broke off their bickering, but the scuffling outside was not their father. In a tumble of ginger hair and dirty limbs, Fred, George and Ginny practically fell over one another into the tent.

'Ahem, well,' said Fred, straightening the turnups of his filthy pyjamas as if he wore a morning coat, 'That was quite a topper to the evening wasn't it?'

'It's not a joke, Fred,' Percy scolded. He peered over Ginny's shoulder through the tent opening. 'Are you all right? Where're the others?'

'Got separated,' said George, shucking his cloak. 'But we're fine. I'm sure the rest are too. Making tea, Charlie? I think we'll have some.' He threw himself onto one of the lower bunks with an exaggerated sigh. 'Is Dad still out there?'

'He's –'

'They aren't back yet?' asked Ginny anxiously. 'Ron and Harry and Hermione?'

Fred's eyes travelled from Percy's bloody nose to Charlie's torn shirt, and settled on the gash in Bill's arm. 'What's happened to you lot?'

Bill raised an eyebrow. 'Percy's right, Fred. It isn't a joke.'

'How've you lost Ron and the others?' Percy demanded. 'You two were supposed to look after them!'

'Oi – you weren't there!' George retorted. 'It was madness in those woods.'

Percy's ears went almost purple. 'In the _woods_? Try fighting a horde of –'

'Hang on, _that's_ dad,' said Bill loudly.

Charlie abandoned the tea to stick his head out the flap of the tent.

'Dad, what's going on? Fred, George and Ginny got back okay, but the others –'

'I've got them here,' their father replied. Charlie stepped back to let him pass.

The others followed him into the tent, each face whiter than the last. Hermione's bushy hair had captured several bits of twig and Ron limped slightly with each step. But Bill could not help but track Harry, who – though perhaps the least dishevelled of the trio – was by far the palest.

He locked the emerald gaze with more intensity than he had meant. In the fraction of a millisecond, a flurry of fear and apprehension met him. Then surprise. And then… a wall of fire. Harry's eyes widened, and Bill looked quickly at his father instead.

'Did you get them, Dad? The one who conjured it?'

Mr Weasley sighed deeply. 'No. I found this lot in the wood, and Barty Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand. But we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Dark Mark.'

Bill slipped in shifting the sheet against his arm, and the floor was smattered with blood.

' _What_?!' he said in unison with both Charlie and Percy.

'Harry's _wand_?' Fred repeated.

'Mr Crouch's _elf_?' added Percy.

'And here I thought Charlie's audition for the next cover of _Witch Weekly_ was the most exciting consequence of the night,' sighed George, shaking his head.

Charlie shot him a sneer, pulling his ripped shirt straighter.

'Yes,' Mr Weasley affirmed, ignoring George. 'Harry lost the wand somewhere in the wood, I suppose. Whoever cast the spell scarpered just after. Crouch's elf had run off from the campsite in the kerfuffle and picked the wand up off the forest floor, but it couldn't have been her who conjured it. Only the Death Eaters knew the–'

'It _wasn't_ ,' Hermione said, in a tone that told Bill plainly it was not the first time she had made the assertion. 'It couldn't have been anyway. We heard the man who did it.'

Harry swallowed, paling further. Bill glanced over, wondering if the boy might pass out. The faint drizzle that had kicked up as the older Weasley boys re-entered the tent intensified, and the canvas roof thumped softly as it rippled above their heads.

'But it didn't stop Crouch sacking her,' said Ron.

Percy straightened his glasses with an air of great scandal. 'Well – he was quite right to do so! Running off into the woods when she wasn't to leave camp, bringing down Merlin knows what sort of embarrassment for him with the Ministry… what if she'd been brought up in front of the Department for –'

'She didn't _do_ anything!' Hermione snapped back at him. 'It's not a crime to be in the wrong place at the wrong time!'

'Perhaps not. But House-elves aren't to touch the wands of wizards, Hermione. And if she had any sense of propriety –'

'Who cares about the House-elf rules!' Ron interrupted loudly, earning himself a scathing look from Hermione. 'I want to know what that skull thing was. Why'd everyone go mad when –'

'I _told_ you, Ron,' she fired back. 'It's the Dark Mark. It's You-Know-Who's symbol. Honestly if you ever read _anything_ beyond what we're asked to for school… Not that you even bother with that most of the –'

'It has not been seen in the sky for thirteen years,' Mr Weasley put in. 'Not since You-Know-Who was defeated in Godric's Hollow.'

Everyone glanced instinctively at the boy who had brought about that downfall. Bill knew that Harry could feel their gaze by the slight flush of his pallid cheeks, but the boy did not look up from the floor and his eyes did not lose their haunted sheen.

'But it's just a symbol in the sky,' Ron protested.

'You don't understand, any of you,' Mr Weasley said sadly. 'You're too young. To those who remember – nothing could cause greater panic. It was a symbol of triumph… the worst sort of triumph. The Death Eaters sent the Dark Mark into the sky wherever they killed. It was – _is_ – the worst fear. To return to find the skull and snake hovering over your house, knowing what you will find within…'

Harry had started to shake almost imperceptibly. The others watched his father in silent horror as Arthur's speech trailed off. Charlie broke it at last, setting a phial of Dittany down next to Bill at the table.

Bill pulled aside the sheet to check his cut. 'Whoever conjured it tonight did us no favours,' he said bitterly, scrutinising the edges. 'It frightened the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. Ministry had removed the wards to bring in reinforcements, and they took advantage. All Disapparated before we got close enough to unmask a one.'

'We can't prove it was them, Bill,' said Arthur reasonably. Bill scoffed, and his father nodded with a sigh. 'Though it probably was.'

'Yeah, well we met Draco Malfoy in the woods,' said Ron darkly. 'I'd bet anything his father was out there.'

'At least we caught the Robertses,' said Charlie. 'There having their memories modified now, but the Healers said they'll be all right. Here – do you want me to do it?'

Bill hissed as his brother's probing fingers started up the flow again. 'It'll scar either way. Have we got any guelder rose extract?'

Percy raised a curious eyebrow. 'Why?'

'Dittany works better with a dash of guelder rose.'

Fred snorted. 'That some mad tale you've picked up in Egypt? Mum's never done it that way.'

'When was the last time Mum patched up a scrape from dark magic?' Bill retorted.

'Nineteen eighty-one.'

Everyone turned to stare at Mr Weasley, argument forgotten again. 'I'm sorry,' said Bill, horrified. 'I didn't mean –'

Arthur waved a hand. 'Of course not.'

A pregnant silence fell, broken only by Percy jostling phials in the potions cupboard. He tossed a small cylinder at Bill, who caught it deftly in his good hand and wrenched the stopper free with his teeth.

'I don't understand,' said Harry, speaking for the first time and sounding as though he had caught a terrible head cold. 'Why would Voldemort – sorry – You-Know-Who's supporters flee the Dark Mark, if it's their symbol? What were they even _doing_ tonight? What was the point?'

Arthur gave a hollow laugh. 'There isn't a _point_ , Harry. There never was, with Muggle torture and killings. Not for the Death Eaters. It's their idea of fun.'

Charlie wrenched the two phials from Bill's hand with a snarl of frustration and held them up to the light to measure the additive. 'I expect they had a few too many drinks, tonight,' he said. 'Couldn't resist a little show… Remind us all they're still out there.'

Ron frowned. 'But Harry's right. They'd have been pleased to see the Dark Mark then, wouldn't they? Cap off their reunion and all.'

Charlie poured the tincture over the cut at exactly the moment his youngest brother spoke. Bill hissed, flexing his fingers to work out the agony as the gash began to seal. 'Oh, do use your head, Ron!' he spat, rather harsher than he had meant. 'These were the Death Eaters who had avoided Azkaban. How do you think they did that, eh? They lied, and schemed, and foreswore everything You-Know-Who stood for. They denied they'd ever been involved with him in the first place, or claimed they'd only ever killed and tortured because he'd forced them through Dark Magic. They left him to rot and went back to their daily lives. If he ever returned, I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?'

'But then… whoever conjured the Dark Mark,' said Hermione slowly. 'Did they do it to support the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?'

Their father shrugged with another weary sigh. 'Could be either. But one thing I'm certain of. It was only ever the Death Eaters who knew how to conjure it – a spell You-Know-Who taught them himself. I'd be astounded to find the person who did it tonight hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now… Harry, are you well?'

Bill looked back to the boy. As did the entirety of the group. Harry flushed again under the scrutiny and shook his head with a small, forced smile. He had stopped his shaking, though the colour had not yet returned to his face.

'Yes. Yes, I'm fine, thanks. Just tired.'

Arthur did not seem entirely convinced, but he dropped the enquiry and clapped a bracing hand on Bill's shoulder as he reached the table. 'It's very late,' he conceded. 'And Molly will be out of her mind with worry when she hears what's happened. Come on then – everyone back to bed. I want to get the earliest Portkey we can.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It woke him with sickening déjà vu, not long past two o'clock.

Or no… perhaps not. Perhaps it was the voices in the corridor.

Cursing, Severus flung the covers to one side. It was draughty in this third-rate inn, and his bare feet froze against the floorboards. Who would have thought midwinter would come in August in Luxembourg. He brushed sleep from a corner of his eye, cursing the drunken fools in the corridor that had disturbed his slumber.

His forearm gave another twinge. Severus clapped a hand over it, too uneasy to raise the sleeve. A ghost, he told himself. Only a phantom. He would know it, if the time had truly come. Even after thirteen years in slumber, the memory of its pain was not one easily forgotten.

'I heard it, I did!' one of the blundering man insisted out of sight. Severus was vaguely surprised to hear the voices speak in English. 'Right from the mouth of a witness. The Mark – up in the sky over all them people. There's no mistaking it.'

'Just some twat gone and had some mad idea for a joke,' his equally sloshed companion contended. 'That mark's not been seen in over a decade.'

The hairs on the forearm Severus had finally plucked up the courage to bare began to rise. He froze on the bed, suddenly keen for the sloppy banter outside to continue. But the shuffling footsteps moved away from his door, deeper into the inn.

He hurled himself off the bed, caring not to take the time even to locate his dressing gown. He wrenched the door open.

'Do you mind not disturbing the peace with your inane babble, _sirs_?' he hissed cuttingly at the duo's retreating backs. ' _Some_ of us have work to do on the morrow.'

They turned, as he had known they would, muttering some half-indignant apology. But Severus was not interested in frivolous speech any longer. He locked eyes with the taller of the two wizards instead. A few moments was all he needed.

Severus did not even deign to respond before he swept into his own room once more, clicking the lock neatly behind him.

So… the Mark had been seen at the World Cup, had it? And who had cast it into the sky? Not the Dark Lord, surely. Severus' own had not burned black, as he know it would if the Dark Lord were ready to make his resurgence; to call his followers home. No… This bore every sign of sloppiness – and such was never the Dark Lord's milieu.

Another, then. But it was yet another sign; another spark of activity and daring that before summer last would have seemed impossible. The Dark Lord had not been back in Britain yet two months, and already his presence had stirred the unrest. Severus had never believed in coincidence.

He lit the fire with a careless wave of his wand. A return to sleep was entirely impossible now.

He called into the flames and knelt. The call was more dizzying than usual, the international travel almost wrenching his physical body along for the ride. But the headmaster's office, when it emerged, was dark and quiet.

But of course, Severus remembered. He and Minerva would have been at the Cup itself tonight. And yet…

He pulled himself out of the fire, disgusted. He could hardly send a Patronus, when Albus was amongst who knew how many Ministry wizards, not to mention the Potter brat. He could wait until morning, he supposed. Little would have changed.

And yet…

He cursed himself for his foolish belief that he could have a reprieve. That he should have travelled abroad with the naïve notion that in his absence the darkness would lay dormant. Had he not been part of the darkness long enough to know? Was not he, more perhaps than any other wizard alive, acutely aware that darkness creeps… that there is no escaping its tendrils in sleep, in miles, even in years?

Bits of Floo Powder fell from his fingers as he clenched and unclenched a fist.

Speaking to the wolf was like swallowing armadillo bile – and yet he knew of no other with whom he _might_ converse at present. Minerva would be with Albus and the boy, and there was no one else now.

He tossed the powder into the flames. The journey nearly made him ill this time, though he knew his physical body was unmoving. The illicit incantation that would allow him to make contact undetected to the Cottage was almost too much for the network to handle. But as he coughed at last when the white room came into view, he found himself nose-to-nose with his original quarry.

'Severus.'

The headmaster did not look surprised. He rarely ever did. But there was a tension in his face nonetheless, and his voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Severus was less successful at hiding his own shock. He felt one brow near his hairline. 'You are not at the match.'

Albus sighed. 'No, I am not.'

'You've brought the boy –'

Albus was already shaking his head. 'I never went to the Quidditch final,' he explained. 'Harry attended with the Weasleys but I – unexpected events came up.'

'So I have heard,' Severus snapped, not bothering to keep his voice at the subdued level the headmaster had set. 'The Dark Mark, Albus? Who –'

A whimpering distracted him. Severus turned, startled, to see that Albus had transfigured the second sofa into an overlarge bed. In its centre, Black tossed fitfully in an obvious fever.

'Keep your voice down, please,' the headmaster requested.

'Headmaster, what –'

'There was an incident. An incident that nearly cost two innocent lives. The situation has been remedied but, as you can see, Sirius is still recovering.'

Severus spared another glance for the bed. But he could not care less what had befallen Black. 'And the boy? Where is he?'

Albus gave him another sharp look for his volume, and spelled a charm over Black's sleeping form. He pushed himself from his own sofa to kneel on the hearthrug.

'Harry attended the final with the Weasleys, as planned. He remains under Arthur's care.'

Again, Severus was surprised. 'You did not collect him? Have you not realised the danger? Albus – there was chaos at the Quidditch final. Someone –'

'I know, I have heard,' the headmaster interrupted. 'But the gossip is worse than the facts. I have had it from several Aurors that the situation resolved without any casualties, and Arthur has sent word that Harry and the others are safe, if a bit rattled. The Death Eaters who began the chaos have fled, and a Ministry task force guards the campsite as we speak. There will be –'

'But you have not retrieved the boy.'

Albus gave him a withering look. 'Harry is safe with the Weasleys for now. I shall speak to him tomorrow. I cannot leave Shell Cottage tonight.'

'Headmaster –'

Albus had turned his head at some sound or movement Severus could not see. When he whipped back, his face was strained.

'Severus, I really cannot spare much longer at the moment. I shall see you upon your return.'

'But –'

The point was lost, as Severus found himself facing only dying embers. Albus had ejected him from the cottage Floo. Furious, he doused them with a stream from his wand and stormed from the room.

A smiling witch with a floating tray awaited his entrance into the front room of the inn. Despite the lateness of the hour, her bubbling glasses matched a winning smile. Neither enticed him in the slightest.

'Sir, a nightcap to take to your –'

'I shall have no need tonight. My bill, if you please.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They left before dawn had even chased away the chill of the previous evening. Mr Weasley had to haggle with the Portkey master to secure them an early departure – a feat no less desperate given the throngs of other Quidditch fans just as eager to be away from the previous night's destruction. Harry caught a glimpse of the Muggle Mr Roberts as they hastened for their assigned portkey. He looked well, for all he had gone through… but he gave them a dazed farewell and a holiday greeting as they passed. It made Harry feel almost ill again.

As did holding his wand. Its magic had not changed, and it felt as familiar in his hand as ever it had. But _Harry_ felt enormously guilty to hold it. How had it been _his_ wand which could conjure such terrible magic; set such panic upon the masses? How could he have been so foolish as to lose it?

'It wasn't as though you did it on purpose,' Ron reasoned several hours later, when Harry at last voiced the sentiment after the three of them had endured Mrs Weasley's panic, seen Arthur and Percy off to the Ministry to manage the aftermath, and huddled together in Ron's room.

Harry grimaced. 'No, but it was so stupid to lose it at all. My _wand_ …'

'How did you?' Hermione wondered aloud with a frown. 'I thought Remus had given you that holster. Wasn't it supposed to have Runes to prevent dislodging or theft?'

'It does,' Harry admitted ruefully. He took it off his wrist, pointing the markings out to the pair of them. 'And I've worn it nearly every day since he gave it to me. Except last night.'

'Why?' asked Ron.

Harry nodded at the night table, where Ron had placed his omnioculars. 'The directions on those said to fasten the strap on the right wrist. So I took the wand holster off.'

Hermione's look of sympathy could not entirely mask her exasperation. 'And you didn't think to put it on your left instead? Or wear the _omnioculars_ on the left?'

Harry shrugged, defensive. 'I didn't _know_ , all right? The directions said the _right_ wrist. And I don't like having my wand on the left – it's not my dominant side. So I put it in my back pocket instead.' He shook his head, irritated at himself again. 'Sirius was just banging on about that the last time I saw him. That I ought to learn to cast with either hand…'

Ron clapped him bracingly on the shoulder. 'There's no use harping on about it now. It must've fallen when we were running through the wood, mate. Could have happened to any of us.'

Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'Yeah. Except it _always_ seems to be me it happens to, doesn't it?'

A sticky silence fell. Then Ron cleared his throat.

'Well… I'm starving. Come on – Mum ought to have fixed something up by now, if she's finished having kittens.'

Harry let Hermione pull him to his feet, and led the way down the rickety stairs. His insides still churned with guilt. Not only for the mishap with the wand… but also for the voice he had yet to put a name to. Had not even told Ron and Hermione about.

The Death Eater he was so _certain_ was the same man who had kidnapped him in Edinburgh…

As they came upon the Weasleys' kitchen, however, thoughts of masked men were driven momentarily from Harry's mind. He skidded to a halt on his heels at the doorway, causing Ron to crash into him.

The Potions Master was glowering across the Weasley table, swathed in his usual long black robes despite the blistering heat.

'Oof! Harry, what –'

'Professor?' Harry queried, looking between him and Mrs Weasley, 'Er – what are you doing here?'

Ron had steadied himself. He gaped at Snape around Harry's shoulder. 'What _are_ you doing here?' he echoed, not bothering to hide his tone of clear disgust.

'Ronald, manners,' his mother scolded. 'Really.'

Snape's eyes performed a quick search of Harry, head to toe. He could not read the professor's expression.

'Potter,' Snape greeted him with a stiff nod. 'Go fetch your things.'

Harry stared at him, open mouthed. 'My… my what?'

'Do you need your ears checked?' Snape asked cuttingly. 'Go and gather your things – we're leaving.'

'Severus!' Mrs Weasley protested in shock, whirling from her youngest son to face the professor again. 'What on earth –'

'Potter is to return to the castle with me this afternoon.'

'No way!' Harry protested. 'I only just got here!'

'Mind your tongue, Potter. I tire of the repetitive warning. Go and pack your things.'

'Severus,' Mrs Weasley interjected at a more reasonable level. 'The headmaster has agreed that Harry might take the train with the others on the first of September. We're quite capable of –'

'He's not going on the train,' Snape said firmly. 'Whatever your capabilities, madam.'

Molly Weasley bristled at once. 'Now see here, Severus,' she said in a steely voice. 'This is _my_ home, and Harry is our guest. You can't just barge in here and –'

'What do you mean, I'm not going!' Harry retorted furiously. 'You can't just –'

'I can and I shall,' Snape spat at him. 'You will kerb your insufferable tongue, Potter, and retrieve your bags.'

'But I'm not –'

' _NOW_!' Snape bellowed.

Harry stormed out of the kitchen, red-faced and furious. But he did not ascend the staircase. Instead, he stood just beyond the door, listening to Mrs Weasley and Snape's tense, hissed conversation. Ron crouched beside him, while Hermione dithered at the foot of the stairs.

'I don't see how you –'

'The boy is not safe, Molly,' Snape cut across her. Harry was surprised at the use of Mrs Weasley's Christian name, and even more so by the significant softening of his tone. 'Surely you realise that.'

'He'll be perfectly safe with us!' she snapped back. 'Arthur –'

'Is not here,' Snape pointed out. 'I gather he has been called into work, and if the stories in the _Prophet_ hold any truth, it is unlikely you will see much of him between now and the start of autumn term.'

There was a moment's hesitation. Harry imagined Mrs Weasley wringing her hands, as she had that morning when Arthur and Percy had hastened from the Burrow. 'It's all Rita Skeeter's nonsense,' she defended. 'Arthur and the others –'

'She may spin sordid tales of the events of the evening, but we both know there is truth at the core,' Snape disagreed. 'If anything, the alarm she has raised will only serve to mount Ministry panic. You are a skilled witch, from all I have heard. But this house has minimal protective charms, and you have enough of your own to watch over. Potter is not your child –'

'He's as good as!' Mrs Weasley cut in hotly. And Harry, knelt at the door, felt his cheeks redden at the compliment. 'And the charms work well enough, Severus, or _you_ would not have been able to enter yourself! And it won't be just me, even if Arthur and Percy are out. Charlie has had to return to work, but my eldest –'

'Where is he now?' Snape wondered, with a bit of his more usual sarcasm.

'Gone to see a friend, I believe. He promised to be back for supper.'

'Did he?'

Another, longer pause. The three in the corridor looked at one another, half frightened, half confused.

'The boy is not safe here, Molly. Not in the present climate. Undoubtedly Dumbledore shall be in touch when he may.'

Footsteps echoed as they approached the door. Harry scrambled to his feet and dove for the stairs, keen to get out of range before Snape opened it. He heard it bang off the wall as he rounded the first landing.

'Potter!' Snape called upward. Harry flattened himself against the wall, trying to abstain from breathing too loudly. But the Potions Master was not fooled. 'If you have time to listen at keyholes, I presume your bags are packed! My patience wears thin.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **Review Responses, Chapter Twenty-Seven**

 **Lost** : Glad I could make you happy! :) I hope you liked Chapter 27 and that you'll enjoy the new post!

 **Trumpet Lover** : Thanks so much for reviewing, and happy to hear you found the stories and have been reading! I hope you enjoy the new instalment.

 **Guest** : Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! As usual, your discussion points are spot on, and I will try my best to address them where I can. So the World Cup and Winky bit. Yes, Harry notices the magic that conceals Barty Jnr – both here and later in the forest. He takes it for some sort of elvish magic… an observation not incorrect, but not quite complete either. We shall see what happens when Albus becomes involved. As to the wand – good on you for remembering the holster Remus gifts him! That answer will come in this next chapter.

The scene with Bill and Gellert… yes, this _should_ feel a bit odd (though I hope it was not unenjoyable for its jarring nature). It comes as a dream sequence, which is in part because I had intended originally to put it in back in 'Against the Feather'… and then decided I did not want the reader to have knowledge of this scene before Bill and Harry's initial interactions. As you say, it is the first time that these tensions between Bill and Grindelwald take quite this tone. On the other hand, most of Gellert and Bill's growing relationship has occurred (deliberately) behind the scenes… we very rarely have seen them together alone; more often the relationship plays out through Bill and Albus scenes, or else Albus and Grindelwald scenes. There are hints throughout that the relationship has been ongoing, and that they have developed a mistrustful rapport. Themes established in their very first meeting recur throughout – including Gellert's accusation that Bill is 'young', his contempt for the tendency to see the world in black and white when it is truly shades of grey, his prediction that war is fast approaching and his insistence that Bill will 'learn' (as well as his subtle but constant instruction). From the off, Grindelwald toys with half-truths and hidden agendas… but he never outright lies.

Obviously, the task set to Grindelwald and Bill is the research of Horcruxes. From the first meeting, Bill questions to himself why Dumbledore would involve Grindelwald in this task. Even though he has misgivings, he chooses not to ask Albus because his job is to listen, provide aid and keep the secret – in other words, he trusts that Albus has his reasons. The final scene of their first meeting really sets the stage for the entirety of this evolving relationship… and Grindelwald is not even in it. Upon leaving Nurmengard, Albus extracts a promise from Bill that he will keep the secrets always, even if something were to happen to the headmaster, unless Albus himself asks otherwise. It is a promise that he requests in the interest of the greater good (though he phrases it as 'safety and security of everyone'). Bill swears his silence. In the ensuring months, we have seen much of this initial blind trust crumble, rebuild and alter. Aberforth warns Albus – a few months into their acquaintance in the final chapter of Part II – that Gellert will turn Bill or use him, or both, and beseeches the headmaster not to bring Bill into it. Albus counters that Bill is not like he himself was – that he is not prone to the temptations that Albus was and that he knows what Grindelwald is. Moments later, when Albus meets Bill, he feels guilty at the observation that the young man is no longer the innocent he was before. This guilt is compounded significantly in Part III, wherein Albus laments that he did this to him and did it knowingly – that because of him and his wars, Bill Weasley would never be the same; that he would always question the inherent goodness of men, that he would never know the simplicities of the world again. He recalls what Gellert had said to him way back in Part I about the sacrifices he must make for the Greater Good, and the effect those sacrifices have on the soul.

All this to say…

Yes, up until now Gellert's exploitation of Bill has been far more subtle. He has sown seeds of discontent so carefully that Bill himself has often not noticed – cultivating a trust that Bill has not yet admitted, though Albus has warned him of its insidious nature more than once. In the text and subtext of Albus/Bill scenes and Albus/Grindelwald scenes, we see hints that Bill and Grindelwald have been spending a great deal of time together. The result has been a growing discontent and wariness that puts this Bill at a markedly different place than the silence and trust he displayed in the middle of Part II. They have shared dinner and wine – an occurrence that Albus stumbles upon at least once and remarks has the air of commonplace. Gellert knows things from Bill that Albus would rather he did not; and keeps certain confidences on his behalf. He speaks often in a manner that mirrors the headmaster's own rhetoric, which disquiets Bill more than once, and he has suggested ulterior motives which Albus actions seem, at times, to give some hint of credence to. Gellert in turn has confided in Bill about Harry – his wandless magic; the nature of his relationship with Albus etc. – and on other things (e.g. Nagini, though the full details of that insight have not yet been revealed). He choses his moments of 'instruction' with great care. For example, he has an entire conversation on human nature and the importance of motivation rather than method in _The Carpathian Dagger_ , before turning the conversation from Nero's erstwhile Horcrux to his own injuries from Albus' visit three nights before… and from there segue into the opinion that love is, and always has been, a weapon and that the game is defined by those who have learned to wield it.

In one particularly important exchange that has resonance in Chapter 27, Bill's enquiries, and the headmaster's last meeting with Gellert himself, prompt Albus to remind Bill that Grindelwald is a dangerous man and master manipulator. They discuss Ginny, and we see Bill's anger that Albus did not explain what had happened himself to Bill or the Weasley parents. Albus admits _not_ that he should have told Molly and Arthur – for which he makes another Greater Good-type argument to Bill – but that he should have told _Bill_ before sending him to Gellert (the implication being that he sees the former as a necessity, but the latter as an oversight only in light of Grindelwald's tendencies). Albus reiterates that Grindelwald cannot be trusted. When Bill hotly replies that he does not trust Grindelwald and never will, Albus cautions: 'You do and you do not. That cannot be helped. He has a way of making himself decidedly useful. A way of seeing the world that seems to invite others into the view. His brilliance knows nearly no match, and it is as intoxicating as it is frightening.' Bill remarks that Albus could be describing himself, and the headmaster admits that he knows that he is. He closes the conversation with the caution that 'Men are made powerful far less by their own talents than by the trust that others place in them. Remember that.'

Yet Chapter 27 is the first time we see, in this dream/flashback, Gellert lose his temper with Bill and a marked shift in the dynamic between these two. I would not assume that there hadn't been previous button pushing… in fact, I think that is the majority of what Grindelwald has been doing to Bill, and the reason for his aging during the past six months. But though he is angrier – I would argue that his manipulation here is still rather subtle… or at least insidious. He is brought to anger by a comparison to Voldemort – a man who we have seen he holds in great distain. He defends his own reputation with the firm expectation that Bill will continue to believe what he always has; but he does not really do it to change Bill's mind in the moment. He does it to implant the seeds of doubt, to start a crack in the foundation… and his choice of timing is very deliberate. Gellert also speaks – again – in half-truths, and in arguably Dumbledore-ish rhetoric. It is frightening to Bill and to us because we know what this man is… but much of what he says could and does make sense and would, perhaps, not seem so revolting were it to come from Albus' lips instead of Gellert's. This is why Bill struggles so acutely to find which point it is he takes issue with, even though he knows there is something that gives him inherent disquiet.

As to Bill's staying… well, I expect he would tell you he must, because the task assigned to him by Dumbledore was to play liaison with Grindelwald and to assist in the research on Horcruxes which – though slow-moving and often apparently fruitless – remains ongoing. Query whether in fact that _is_ the reason that he stayed… or whether, as you have suggested, he is merely stupidly choosing Grindelwald's company. But that is the thing about Gellert, as Albus warned. He can be mesmerising; intoxicating.

On your query about the wandless magic – yes, Gellert was the one who told him. Ah, the advice about creating stronger dittany comes back, so I believe you will have the answer to that one.

Mmm… the woods. Like Sirius' fevered flight a few chapters ago, this scene is told in bits and spurts that are meant to reflect the chaos of our POV character's situation (though luckily, Harry's thoughts are not quite so scrambled as Sirius'). And yes – we have our answer on Edinburgh at long last! An identification I think readers could and sometimes did make on their own, but still… I'm happy I no longer have to sit on the information. Of course as you said, many queries remain as to _how_ Crouch Jnr was in Edinburgh… and for those, I fear, the wait will continue a bit longer… but I do think you'll enjoy where it goes. As to Harry – things pick up fairly quickly in this next chapter.

Thank you for the well wishes and I hope you are having a lovely start to the summer as well!


	29. Pride, Prejudice and Fear

**A/N:** Fairly quick update this time at last, and a long one!

As always…

 **PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**!

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

 **Pride, Prejudice and Fear**

Remus crept down the staircase early the next morning, not wishing to disturb the unusually crowded household after so late a night. When he came upon the front room, however, he found Sirius already awake – sitting up on the bed and balancing a cup of tea and a book. On the opposite sofa sat Albus, fast asleep, his long beard blowing softly with each breath and his spectacles in imminent danger of sliding off the end of his crooked nose. Remus smiled softly at the sight.

'What are you doing up?' he whispered to Sirius.

'I've had enough of sleep,' the latter whispered back, giving a small grin.

Remus chuckled. 'Well,' he said, 'At least you've been good. Haven't had any more wanderings in the night.'

Sirius' grin turned rueful. 'Hard to wander, when you feel as though you've been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs,' he said wryly. 'And besides – I'm pretty sure he stayed up with me most of the night.' He nodded at Dumbledore. 'Not sure he could take it if I ran out on him in the hour he finally let himself rest. Go and fetch your tea, Moony. I'll be here.'

Remus took the suggestion and fixed himself a cup in the kitchen. When he returned, he considered Sirius closely. His face was still tinged a faint green, and he looked tired and drawn. But the delirium that had gripped him so ardently these past few days had all but faded.

'Stop studying me,' Sirius hissed as Remus came to sit beside him. 'It's dead creepy.'

'Sorry,' he apologised, without truly meaning it. 'Do you need anything? Another round of potions?'

'I took the doses Albus left on the table,' Sirius assured him. 'I'm not a schoolboy, Remus,' he added, when Remus frowned as though this self-medication disturbed him. 'I know how to handle myself… usually.'

Remus gave a small laugh. 'Right enough. Are you hungry? I could make us some food, or…'

'Not yet, I think. But maybe by lunch.'

The words reminded Remus of the reason he had come down so early to begin with. He stiffened.

Sirius noticed, and he frowned. 'What is it? What's wrong?'

Remus watched his face again, uncertain whether to say. But the headmaster stirred at precisely that moment, shaking his head and clearing his throat, and Remus was spared the decision.

'Good Merlin,' Albus mumbled, sitting up and straightening his glasses. 'I fear it has been a long time indeed since last I've fallen asleep on a sofa.'

He looked over at them both appraisingly. 'You are looking much improved, my boy,' he said to Sirius. 'And that is good news indeed.'

'Except for the green,' Sirius quipped with a grimace. 'It really has never been my colour.'

'No,' agreed a new voice.

Minerva swept into the room, already dressed for the day. 'Though perhaps if it had been, I'd have been spared a great deal of grief and discipline.'

Sirius pulled a very hurt face. 'You don't mean that!' he said with great offence. 'I won more House Points for Gryffindor than almost anyone in the year!'

'And lost more,' added Remus.

Minerva gave a 'humpf!', and went into the kitchen to fix herself and the headmaster a morning cup of tea.

Remus looked to Albus. 'I thought perhaps I should go first. In case anyone raises a question.'

'A wise idea,' Albus agreed. 'But I shall not be long behind you. And I must use the Floo before I head out.'

'Go where?' Sirius demanded from the sofa, which Albus had helpfully un-transfigured now that its occupant seemed no longer at Death's door.

The headmaster smiled gently. 'We have some business to see to this morning,' he explained. 'Though it should not take long. At least I hope it will not.'

'What business? Business that can't wait, Albus? It's only one day since the moon.'

'No, it cannot wait,' said Dumbledore firmly. 'Not with the start of term so close at hand. Minerva will stay here until Remus' return. And you should rest, my boy, lest you undo the strides you have made in a night's decent rest.'

'I don't need a minder, Albus,' Sirius assured him. 'And I know you've much to do, between the school and the Order. Both of you.'

He nodded in turn to Minerva, who had returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea. Her face was white and very grave as she passed the headmaster his cup.

'Less a minder than company, Sirius,' Albus disagreed. 'And though I suspect the danger in this fever has passed, I would not leave you so soon on your own.'

An owl tapped at the window, a newspaper in its beak. Remus got up to retrieve it.

Albus stood, stretched, and clapped his hands together. His tea sat undrunk on the table. 'Well… I think I shall freshen up and make my call from the back bedroom. But I shall walk you to the boundary, Remus, if you are prepared to leave?'

Remus scarcely heard him. Having paid the owl its delivery fee, he'd unfurled the newspaper to see a huge photograph took up nearly the entirety of the front page: dark, terrifying, and achingly familiar…

'Remus,' the headmaster called again, slightly sharper.

Remus turned from the window, and could see instantly in Sirius' face that his own betrayed his horror.

'What is –' his friend began, half-rising from his seat.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. 'Albus, the –'

'We are short on time today,' Albus spoke over him. His back was to Sirius as he faced Remus, and his eyes flashed in warning. 'Come, and bring the newspaper. There may be a bit of sitting about.'

Remus did his best to school his expression, though it was very difficult. Sirius still watched him closely. He smiled.

'Right then.' He nodded in turn to Sirius and Minerva. 'I'll see you later.'

He strode ahead of Albus from the room, Sirius' suspicious eyes still on his back. The door had barely closed in their wake when he hissed to the headmaster, brandishing _The Daily Prophet_ –

'The Dark Mark, Albus?! The Dark Mark at the World –'

'Yes, I am aware,' the headmaster interrupted. 'I had a message in the night. The perpetrator was not caught, but the riots were subdued without permanent casualty.'

'And Harry?' Remus pressed anxiously.

'Fine, according to Arthur. They will be returned to the Burrow this morning. That is the call I intend to make before I set out to join you.'

Remus worried his lip. 'You are sure…'

'I am,' Albus promised. 'Harry will be perfectly safe, for the present.'

'Sirius will go mad when he finds out,' Remus said, shaking his head. 'And they _will_ find out, Albus…'

'Yes,' Albus sighed. 'Minerva already knows. I left her a letter in the kitchen this morning.'

'A _letter_? You think you can explain all this in a _letter_ , headmaster?'

'She will be discreet; I have no doubt. And we shall not keep it from Sirius forever. You may tell him upon your return – but I do not wish to complicate the morning with having to talk him down. Things are too perilously balanced as it is.'

They had reached the borders of the property now, but Remus hesitated at the moment of departure. 'When _I_ return, Albus? You do not intend to come back to the cottage?'

Albus gave a small smile. 'I rather doubt I shall have the luxury,' he admitted. 'Already I have tarried too long. Fudge may not expect my defence of you, but he shall surely expect my counsel at the Ministry. Ere long he shall enquire after me at Hogwarts. And from my school, I have been absent too abruptly and too long. Madam Maxime and Karkaroff are expected at the end of the week; the staff will be soon returning; and there is much to be done before the start of term. I must also find time to connect with Elphias, and those to whom you have already paid calls.'

Remus felt a bit uncomfortable. 'Sirius was right,' he said after a moment. 'And I am sorry, Albus – our foolishness should not be yours to mitigate. You have enough to manage as it is.'

Albus waved an aged hand. 'My dear boy – the demands on my time are not yours to consider. I would not have been here, if I thought my rightful place was elsewhere. But you must hurry, Remus. For the first task of this onerous day is ours to bear together, and I fear the most difficult of all. Go. I shall meet you in an hour's time.'

Remus hesitated again on the brink of speech, but the headmaster had already turned away – striding with quick step back for the cottage. He looked down at the newspaper, still furled tightly in his palm. A cold, empty socket of a starry skull stared back. For a moment, it seemed to open – sucking him in like a cavernous void…

He turned it until only broken words cold be seen. And he Disapparated.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Were you injured?' Snape asked as soon as they had turned the corner on the path and the Burrow disappeared from view.

Harry furrowed his brow, confused. 'What do you mean? I'm fine, sir.'

Snape gave him the look he always seemed to reserve for moments he thought Harry was acting particularly thick. 'At the Quidditch World Cup,' he clarified impatiently. 'Were you injured?'

'I – no, not really,' Harry said honestly.

He continued to frown at Snape. The man's tone was clinical, not concerned, but Harry thought his whole demeanour seemed off today. He would have been worried once more that he was walking along with a doppelganger… except that no impersonator, he was sure, would have been able to fool Albus or the charms he knew the headmaster had set at the Weasleys before his arrival. Even more, he was growing used to Snape's magical signature… and the latter's magic was exceedingly on edge at the moment. It virtually crackled in the air about him.

The Potions Master did not reply. They were nearing the end of the Weasley property now, where the rather wild garden gave way to a gravel road into the village. Snape paused, looking around as they reached it. He held out his arm.

'We'll Apparate, Potter.'

Harry took Snape's wrist with a grimace. He had never been fond of Apparition as a general rule. And, as was always the case when he Side-Along Apparated with the Potions professor, the journey was much harsher than it was with Albus. He only just kept his feet when they slammed into the ground a moment later, and only then because Snape had grasped his shoulders.

Without a word, or a moment for Harry to regain his head, he steered him away from the edge of the village and up through the gates into the grounds. He did not release his hold until they had passed beneath the winged boars. Even then, he walked unusually close.

'Why didn't Albus want me to stay at Ron's, sir?' Harry ventured to ask as they wound their way up the hill.

'Don't ask questions, Potter,' the professor snapped back. 'Just do as you are told.'

'Don't ask questions,' Harry repeated to himself. He gave a soft, hollow laugh.

Snape turned, glaring over his shoulder.

Harry shrugged. 'Sorry. It's just… that's what the Dursleys used to say. Whenever I wanted to know anything about my parents, or my past; whenever I had a question about something odd. First rule I remember learning, actually.'

'Your ability to follow them has not improved with age, I see,' said Snape waspishly. He turned away again and continued walking. 'It is – as no doubt you overheard me telling Weasley's mother – not currently safe for you to be wandering the country, Potter. The castle is protected in ways that no other building in the country ever can be.'

'But Albus checked in only this morning,' Harry pointed out, still confused. 'Just after we got back, he Flooed. And he didn't mention then that I'd need to leave.'

Snape was taking a shortcut off the path. He swept his robes back to climb smoothly over a large boulder in the way. Harry had to scramble overtop it, far less graceful on his much shorter legs.

'No doubt the headmaster was busy this morning. He has been called to the Ministry for much of the day. But there are events in motion which you cannot possibly understand,' the professor said, flicking his wand to clear the grass from Harry's knees. 'Dumbledore appreciates the risks.'

'If you're talking about the Death Eaters, I know all about it, sir,' said Harry, a little miffed.

'How fortuitous. Then your magical education seems hardly necessary.'

'I was there last night. I saw the rioting. I was there – when that nutter cast the Dark Mark –'

Snape whirled in anger. 'Then you too should appreciate the dangers, Potter. Let me assure you, you know _nothing_ of the Death Eaters or the followers of the Dark Lord. _Nothing_ of the evil that even now gains strength.' He searched Harry again with his eyes. 'If you did, then you would not stand here defiant whilst the image of the Dark Mark's rise burned in your mind.'

'How fortunate, then, that he has you to instruct him, Snape. Who better suited?'

Both of them jumped. Snape turned, his wand whipping into his hand, blocking Harry bodily from view.

Mad-Eye Moody stood on the crest of the hill, leant heavily against his queer walking stick. He was grinning – or so Harry thought. It was difficult to tell with his mismatched teeth and heavily scarred face. Either way, the look was not inviting. He too had his wand out, and he spun it casually between long-nailed fingers as he leered down at Snape. Both magical and normal eye had stilled, fixed on the professor.

'Moody.' Even Harry was surprised by the vitriol in his voice; and he himself had been the subject of Snape's loathing long enough to recognise it well. 'You were not due for several days, unless my ah – _anticipation_ – has missed its mark.'

Moody snorted once, as though amused. 'I have always found it useful to drop in when less expected, Snape. The better to catch out those who would rather avoid my eye. You might remember.'

Snape's lip curled. 'Watch your tongue, Moody. Lest you fancy it removed. I dare say one more missing bit would not go much noticed.'

Moody's normal eye narrowed. His wand hand twitched. 'You could try,' he challenged. 'And I do wish you would, Snape…'

Snape's shoulders seemed to stiffen, but he did not move his own wand. 'Do not let us hold you up,' he said at last, sounding as though every word were a great effort. He managed to bow mockingly without exposing the back of his neck.

Moody looked from Snape to Harry, and back again. 'What are you doing with Potter, Snape? He was to be away from the castle this week, I was told. Or have you fetched him for a history lesson?'

'What Dumbledore chooses to share or not to share with _you_ , Moody, is none of my concern. And I have not the time or inclination to clue you up. Potter – come.'

He made to lead Harry around the ex-Auror, but Moody shifted faster than he ought to have been able with only one true leg, blocking their path.

'No, Potter,' he counter-commanded. Still some steps above them on the hillside, he loomed taller than Snape. And his gaze held as much contempt for his new colleague as the Potions Master's did for him. He spoke in a hiss, but not so low that Harry could not hear. 'It is what Dumbledore shares with _you_ , Snape, that concerns _me_ … He's a forgiving man, Dumbledore. But _I_ say there are certain histories that cannot be unwritten. Choices that cannot be unmade…'

Snape's wand was suddenly drawn again, and he levelled it at Moody's throat.

'What are you _doing_?' Harry demanded, gawking at the pair of them in bewilderment as they stared each other down.

'Stay out of this, Potter,' Snape barked.

'Oi there, gents!'

A booming voice echoed across the grounds, as Hagrid came striding towards them. Harry had only barely turned, grateful for the interruption, when he was bowled over by Fang's desperate attempt to lick his ears.

The two wizards stepped apart, though neither stowed his wand. Hagrid stepped neatly between them. 'Wouldn't be having a row now, would yeh?' he asked genially. 'Lo there, Harry.'

Harry, finding his feet again and subduing Fang with a scratch behind his nape, grinned back. 'Hi, Hagrid.'

'What're yeh doing back and all?' Hagrid asked, chuckling at him.

Harry shrugged. 'Dunno. Albus' idea, I suppose.'

Hagrid studied him, stroking his bushy beard. 'Aye. Well then, I reckon he's got his reasons. Dumbledore always does. Couldn't do with a spot of tea, could yeh?'

'Yeah! I –'

'No, he cannot,' Snape answered for him. He had turned from the irate Defence professor at last, brushing the front of his robes. 'Thank you, Hagrid, but we have dawdled long enough as it is. Come along, Potter.'

Harry scowled, fully prepared to argue back. But something in Snape's eyes stopped his protest before it could begin. He said a miserable goodbye to Hagrid instead, and followed the professor into the castle. Moody remained on the hillside with the gamekeeper, but his distrustful gaze watched them out of sight. Harry could almost feel his magical eye still upon them even after the oaken doors had clanged shut.

Despite his annoyance with Snape and the headmaster's beguiling change of heart, Harry found comfort in the familiarity of the entrance hall's flagstones. He turned automatically for the grand staircase, thinking to make for the headmaster's tower and his own rooms. But Snape had other ideas.

'And where are you going, Potter?' he called, halting Harry on the very first step.

He turned. 'Sir?'

The Potions Master raised one eyebrow. 'Come,' he commanded simply again.

Harry's heart sank as the professor turned round the corner instead, making for the dungeons. He bit his tongue again and followed. Each step downward seemed to take a bit more of the castle's warmth, until he was wrapped in the tendrils of the dungeon's damp cold – as familiar as the flagstones, but far less loved. An ache was growing against his temple. He longed for the headmaster's return.

Snape swung a door open. Not to his usual classroom, nor even to the quarters Harry had visited so unwisely earlier in the summer. This room seemed somewhere in between. Several cauldrons were set at stations about the dungeon, some already bubbling or smoking. But there was a sitting area too. Minimal, it was true… but two leather sofas of the same deep hue as those in Snape's quarters stood in front of a hearth.

Snape's private laboratory, Harry realised. He hesitated at the door.

' _In_ ,' Snape directed.

Harry entered. Dark taper candles burned in ornate sconces decorated with carved snakes. Their flickering flames danced through the iron, playing a trick on the eye that almost made them seem to be undulating. They reminded Harry strongly of the Chamber of Secrets. He suppressed an involuntary shudder.

'Have a seat, Potter,' the professor directed, waving him toward one of the potion stations.

Harry sat. Snape shut the door and pointed his wand at the empty grate. It sprung to life. He swept to the back of the room, bent over a cauldron in the corner and sniffed at it. He took up a stirrer and a phial of some turquoise liquid. He poured out seven droplets, stirring clockwise and anticlockwise with each, until the potion within the cauldron began to froth. Harry – left without anything to distract his attention but to watch Snape's movements – could not help but be impressed with the deft precision. Snape had not even had to look at the phial as he measured its dose.

Snape tapped the base of the cauldron with his wand, and the fire beneath it lowered until its flames could barely be seen. He moved to the centre cauldron instead, and only now – as he begin de-flowering a pile of daffodils – did he speak to Harry.

'What happened at the match?'

'I – er, don't you know, sir? It was all over _The Daily Prophet_ , like you said.'

Snape paused in choosing a carving knife to give him a scathing look. 'Of course I know what was in the newspaper. I want to know what _you_ saw, Potter.'

So Harry recounted what had happened at the campsite. How he and the others had been told to flee into the forest. And how it had been there, deep in the trees, that they had heard a man conjure the Dark Mark. How Mr Weasley and the Ministry officials had turned up and found Winky. How Crouch had sacked her. How Mr Weasley had told them all, back in the tent, what the Mark had meant…

When he finally finished, Snape had made it to the last cauldron – set a bit apart from the others at the front of the room. This one, it seemed, was empty. Snape began piling ingredients onto a work table next to it. But he paused at Harry's halt, fixing him with a piercing stare.

'What are you concealing, Potter?'

'I told you everything!' Harry said, indignant.

Snape's obsidian stare did not release him. 'You edited,' the Potions Master disagreed quietly.

It was true, of course. But he did not wish to speak of the man from Edinburgh… not to Snape; and not before he had a chance to talk to Albus. He tore his eyes away from the penetrating gaze, scowling. He rubbed his temples.

Harry was angry. If he had to be holed away in the castle, Dumbledore might at _least_ have given him a better gaoler than Snape. And where _was_ he? If it had been so important to make Harry come home, why had he not even sent a message?

Suddenly, a pair of books appeared in front of him, slamming hard on the table top. Harry jumped.

'A copy of your fourth year Potions text, as well as the selection of your new _Defence_ professor,' Snape explained. 'The Fourth Year begins, in Potions, with a continuation of much of the work on Undetectable Poisons from the previous term, and focuses heavily on antidotes. The construction of antidotes is a study that will take you well into the later portion of your school days, but we will begin the autumn term with a discussion of the theory. Chapters four through nine, I believe.'

Harry looked forlornly down at the textbook. He did not open it. 'When is the headmaster due back, sir?'

Snape set a thick bundle of mint to one side. 'Possibly by supper, perhaps later. He has a full timetable this afternoon. Either way, _you_ have three or four hours to put that book to use.'

Harry sighed audibly, though he knew it would annoy Snape. 'Can I have a headache draught?'

Snape narrowed his eyes at him. 'Why?'

Harry rolled his own. 'Because I have a _headache_ , sir.'

'Your scar?' he asked sharply.

Harry shook his head. 'No. Just lack of sleep I think.'

Snape glared sceptically back at him, but summoned a phial from his store cupboard with a lazy flick of his wand. 'It is not in your usual irritating nature to admit to such things, Potter.'

Harry scowled. 'If you're going to make me read for four hours, I'd rather not do it with my brain pounding through my skull.'

The professor studied him closely. Then he floated the phial to Harry's place, hovering it just beyond comfortable reach. 'Take it, but do not drink,' he instructed.

Harry closed his fingers around the phial's stem and drew it to him, frowning. 'Why? What's the matter with it?'

Snape raised his favoured brow again. 'Nothing is _wrong_ with it, Potter. It is my own. You have never prepared a headache draught, have you?'

Harry shook his head, though Snape – his potions instructor – already knew.

'Do you know the ingredients?'

'Er…'

'Unstopper it.'

He waited while Harry did so. 'Now cover the opening and turn the phial, placing a drop on the pad of your thumb. Careful! Do not spill it.'

Harry flipped it quickly as directed, though he could not puzzle out Snape's point. The professor nodded.

'Taste the droplet, and tell me what is in the brew.'

Harry stared. 'What?'

'Pardon, _sir_ ,' Snape corrected. 'And you heard me.'

'But… how can I –'

Snape's temper visibly frayed. 'Must you question _every_ instruction you are given?'

Harry placed his thumb to his tongue. It was bitter, as nearly all healing brews were, and he had to fight hard to concentrate through the automatic revulsion.

'Belladonna,' he identified first, choosing the most pungent of both scent and flavour. 'And… fluxweed, I think. There's something a bit mustardy.'

Snape nodded. 'Belladonna is a key ingredient in most healing potions, as you well know. And every form of common pain reliever. Fluxweed treats what?'

'Pain,' said Harry. And then – because he knew Snape would scoff at the obvious answer – 'It's supposed to dull sharp pain.'

The professor nodded again. 'What else?'

Harry frowned. 'May I take another drop?'

The professor waved him on, and Harry repeated the process. This time, he swirled the bit of liquid around his mouth before he answered. 'Mint… though not enough to mask the others. It's used for sinus solutions too, so I suppose that's head-related. And… willow bark?'

'Yes. Another common base for pain potion, and for antipyretic draughts. In dire need, willow bark alone can be steeped into a tea that will bring some relief for either, and it is easy enough to harvest. Three left, Potter. Try again.'

Harry took a third drop. But this time, he found it much harder. 'Monkshood, maybe? I can't tell whether flowers or root…'

'Root only,' Snape clarified. 'And in a very small quantity, for it can prove quite unpleasant in a heavy-handed brew. A powerful analgesic. The remainder?'

Harry thought for long minute. He tried a fourth drop. But his headache only seemed to increase as his efforts were frustrated. 'I'm not sure, sir,' he admitted at last. 'I can sort of taste something else… but I don't know what it is.'

Snape put down what appeared to be the innards of something quite slimy, and stripped his dragonhide gloves. 'Not unexpected,' he conceded. 'And not horrendous, for your first attempt at this exercise. Thorax of dragonfly is very hard to distinguish –' he ignored Harry's muffled squeal of disgust – 'And I doubt you have used powdered root of asphodel in your brewing before.'

'Er…' said Harry, trying very hard not to overthink the dragonflies. 'No, sir. But I thought it was mainly for sleeping potions?'

'It has pain relieving properties as well,' Snape informed him. 'And monkshood combats its somnolent effects, for it is itself a stimulant. Alihotsy is generally favoured for headache remedies, but I have substituted for asphodel in this particular brew.'

'Why?' asked Harry in confusion. 'If the alihotsy is better…'

'I said _favoured_ , Potter. Not better,' Snape corrected. 'The difference between the two is negligible, for purposes of this potion. Alihotsy is favoured only because it is comparatively inexpensive. It is also, however, a common and sometimes deadly allergen. You have never been exposed to it before, to my knowledge. And your sensitivity to Muggle penicillin suggests it would be unwise to attempt an introduction without a Mediwitch to hand. Asphodel is far less likely to cause a reaction, and in any case you have had it many times before. It is used in Dreamless Sleep.'

Harry stared – surprised Snape had remembered when even he could not recall how the Muggle medicine had ever come up… and even more so that Snape thought so overlong about the ingredients in such common brews as to work out substitutions and amendments; which would react with what and how to alter their composition accordingly.

The professor glowered at the lack of response; or perhaps Harry's expression. 'Do not look so shocked, Potter. Penicillium is a common allergen. Alihotsy intolerance is nearly as widespread amongst wizards, and comorbidity is not infrequent. As a general rule, we do not give alihotsy to _any_ student who is known to have other sensitivities.'

Harry merely nodded, and downed the rest of the potion at Snape's direction. The professor returned to his sorting of ingredients. Harry reluctantly cracked open the book to Chapter Four and began trying to read up on antidotes.

It was terribly dull. From his station in the corner, Snape's chopping beat a steady drone, like the ticking of an ever-watched clock. After a few fruitless minutes Harry found his focus wandering again – studying the furls of violet smoke issuing from the cauldron to his left; or the still-frothing brew in the corner… watching the iron snakes in their odd flame dance; or Snape, bent so close to his exact dicing that his curtain of greasy hair was in danger of a drastic trim.

The rhythmic chopping paused, and black eyes flashed up.

'You are meant to be _reading_ , Potter. Not lazing about.'

Harry turned his back to the page, rubbing his eyes and perusing a passage that he had a nasty feeling he had started twice before. The drone of the knife did not resume.

'Has the headache not passed?'

Harry shrugged. 'Not much,' he admitted.

Snape pushed a pile of chopped vegetation to one side with a very put-upon sigh. 'Then it would seem you did not exaggerate your lack of rest.' He gestured at the sofas next to the hearth with his chopping knife. 'You may sleep, if you wish.'

Harry gaped at him as though he had gone mad, and not just because he was still pointing rather sinisterly with the steel blade.

 _Sleep_ in Snape's dungeon? That seemed the epitome of foolishness. How would he ever rest, with the potions bubbling about him, the snakes flickering above, and Snape himself – sweeping through the room whilst Harry dreamt?

But he was so tired… they had hardly slept at all the past two nights…

'Can't I go upstairs, to my own room?'

'You may not.'

'But why?' Harry asked, bordering on insolent again. 'I'm not going to run off or anything.'

'Because I have said so, Potter!' the professor snapped. 'You will remain here until the headmaster returns to the castle.'

And so Harry glared down at the textbook, and began Chapter Four's first paragraph for the third time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It took longer than the hour Albus had anticipated. Of course, he had _not_ anticipated Kingsley's owl at the downstairs window whilst he had been occupied with the upstairs Floo. Nor that Sirius, left alone for a brief moment in the sitting room and already suspicious of the morning's events, would waylay the bird and hold its envelope hostage.

The upstairs Floo, he had thought, would be for the best. He did not wish to contact Harry in front of Sirius; well aware that the perils of either in recent hours would set the other on edge. He took just long enough to see for himself that Harry had come to no harm in the distress of the evening and reassure him in turn that his godfather was safe, and to speak briefly to Arthur before the latter departed for the Ministry to help manage the fallout.

'And your elder sons?' Albus added, as Arthur shook out a shabby cloak. 'Did they fare all right in the melee?'

Arthur gave a preoccupied grunt. 'Pardon? Oh yes, yes. They all did rather brilliantly, if it isn't immodest to say such things of one's own children. Percy took a blow to the nose at one point or other, and Bill cut his arm rather badly in some skirmish I haven't yet got a clear idea of – they each tell it differently, you know. But they've both been patched up nicely, and Charlie came through in one piece.'

Albus frowned in mild concern. 'And they are staying on a few days, I hope?'

Arthur, now shuffling with papers he was attempting to shove into an already cramped bag, looked up in distraction. 'Ah – Charlie's gone off this morning back to Romania, actually. And Bill's off to see a mate from school for a few hours, I think. But he'll be here until the term begins.'

'Good…' said Albus, though he was slightly disconcerted. 'That is good.'

He bid Arthur farewell and pulled his shoulders from the fireplace, still frowning. It was only then that he heard the shouting from below.

' – what it is you're not telling me, Minerva!'

'Sirius, really! Not everything is a plot to keep you –'

There came the unmistakable sound of a slammed foot. 'What's in _The Prophet_ then, eh? I saw Remus' face… Have they worked out that I –'

'The rumours in _The Daily Prophet_ had nothing to do with you, Sirius,' said Albus in a commanding voice, stepping from the stairs and sweeping into the room. 'Or very little, at the least. I must admit I have not perused the article in its entirety.'

Sirius brandished the letter – still unopened, though Albus could not tell whether it was the wizard's own tenuous self-control or Minerva's interruption that had kept the seal unbroken.

'Shacklebolt's sent a message,' he growled, thrusting the correspondence into Albus' hand. 'And I'd bet half of Gringotts it isn't a Ministry pardon, Dumbledore. Enough with the cloak and dagger!'

Albus sighed deeply. He pocketed the letter. 'Then I shall speak quickly and _you_ shall be rational, Sirius. There is very little time.'

He gave a brief account of the events of the previous evening, though lighter on Harry's involvement than what he had heard from Arthur Weasley's owl in the night. Even so, it had eaten precious minutes to give an explanation, and even more to quiet Sirius' fears enough to depart. He did not envy Minerva the long day ahead, nor Remus what was sure to be a trying evening.

But as he arrived in the grand hall of the Ministry at half ten, a new challenge awaited. A quick glance about revealed an unusual bustle of haggard, harassed-looking employees. The fireplaces along the circular wall flared and ebbed in a staccato symphony of emerald flame, sending out and welcoming dozens of anxious figures. Apparating arrivals muttered hasty apologies as they appeared suddenly in front of – or in some cases on top of – colleagues or callers. A throng of gesticulating foreigners had cornered a distressed one of Bagman's young undersecretaries, calling out for reimbursements and explanations the poor wizard could neither understand nor answer. The air was thick with flying memoranda, and thrice Albus picked the violet papers from his long hair.

Several wizards called out greetings and two attempted to waylay him for a chat with anxious upturned faces, but Albus sidestepped all as he made for a small security desk he usually bypassed.

'Remus Lupin,' he enquired of the surprised little wisp of a wizard manning it. 'He should have checked in this morning…'

'Lupin… Lupin, ah, yes!' The wizard nodded, consulting a high chest of miniature drawers. 'Got here a bit after nine o'clock and they whisked him right down. I have his wand here.'

Albus' eyes darkened. 'You have taken it? I believe the policy of the Ministry is to register guests' wands, not to confiscate them.'

The wizard swallowed nervously and shifted in his chair. 'I've got my orders, Professor Dumbledore, sir. And the order here said take the wand, and send the werewolf down to Courtroom 4 for interrogation.'

'Did it indeed?' asked Albus coldly. 'And why would the Ministry have need of a courtroom? The Wizengamot has not been summoned, surely. For _I_ am the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Whelon, and I received no such call to convene nor notice of the intention to hold a tribunal.'

The security wizard swallowed again. 'I… I do not know, headmaster. I only follow the orders…'

Albus smiled, his face a fraction more benign. 'Of course, Randall. I did not mean to imply otherwise.'

He turned, crossing the marble floor at a clip for the lifts. He could hear the little man calling after him, but he ignored the summons and the several heads that turned curiously to watch.

Courtroom 4 was crowded when he reached it. Though not, Albus was slightly heartened to see, with his colleagues of the high court. Kingsley was there, as Albus had known he would be. With him too were the Aurors that had led the search in Cornwall. The Minister for Magic sat in Albus' own usual chair, highest and most central in the circle. Two delegates from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures were sat to his right. To his left, a squat, unpleasant witch simpered. She broke from whispering at the Minister's ear upon Albus' entry, giving every impression of polite astonishment to see him at the door.

Remus had been placed before the raised rows of high seats. He was not in the chained chair of one on official trial, but seated instead at a table of the sort which, in any ordinary Ministry interview or hearing, would have held chairs for all participants. Around him, high candelabras cast a cool light upon the dark marble floors, giving the entire chamber the feel of a grotto beneath the sea, or the lair of some ancient dragon of legend. Albus' boots echoed in the chasm as he strode down the centre of the room. On the rounded walls high above the congregation, a stately painted witch raised a hand in silent welcome.

'Dumbledore!' greeted Fudge, smiling from his chair with all appearances of pleasure. 'By Merlin, this is a surprise.'

'Is it indeed, Minister?' asked Albus with equal politeness. 'I had sought to pay you a call first thing this morning, given the events of the past twenty-four hours… And learning you intended to interview a member of my staff, I was ever more eager that we should speak. Of course –' he looked around, inclining his head at the others in the cavernous room – 'I had not imagined this interview would be quite so… formal.'

Fudge looked slightly disquieted. 'Yes, well… Sirius Black, Dumbledore. And then this business at the World Cup last night. It's a matter of international security now, and we must take every precaution.'

'Your _staff_?' Dolores Umbridge questioned from his left. 'That is not how we understand it, headmaster. We were under the impression Mr Lupin had been removed from his Hogwarts post, after _The Prophet_ revealed to the world that you had concealed his half-breed status from the students and _parents_ for an entire year.'

There was a smattering of uncomfortable rustling amongst the watchers. Remus' shoulders stiffened in his chair.

Albus felt a rush of anger at the slur. But he smiled gently at her odious face all the same. 'Then you were misinformed, Madam Undersecretary. Remus Lupin tendered notice of his voluntary resignation at the end of term for personal reasons. But until our new Defence teacher takes up his post later this week, Remus remains a professor at Hogwarts. His medical condition bears no weight upon my decision to employ him, and never has.'

Dolores tittered with affected incredulity. 'His _condition_ , headmaster? This man is a _werewolf_. And I'm afraid your decisions are no longer relevant here.' She drew a scroll from the folds of her robes, emblazoned with the ostentatious seal of the Ministry. 'New legislation, signed by the Minister himself just this morning. For the regulation and control of werewolves working in decent Wizarding society.'

Remus gave a stifled gasp of horror from his seat. Dolores floated the parchment into Albus' hand with a flick of her wand, still smiling widely.

'New Wizarding law requires a vote of the Wizengamot,' Albus reminded her, opening the scroll and giving its contents enough of a cursory read to recognise that the registration and publication requirements would defer all but the boldest of employers. He distinctly recalled similar proposals several times in the past few years. He had managed to curry enough of objection to defeat the legislation, though his margins were narrowing with each attempt. To wit, he wondered indeed whether even he would have been able to persuade his colleagues now – in the wake of such scandal – had Fudge sought their leave as he ought.

Fudge cleared his throat. 'Er… yes, in the usual course,' he said brusquely. 'But the events of the past few days. The Minister for Magic may act of his own executive in times of emergency, Albus.'

The headmaster looked up, his gaze piercing. 'Indeed he might, Cornelius. But I must caution against knee-jerk reaction. The edict which comes from fear and suspicion is often an overcorrection that imperils those most in need of the government's protection, and may prove very difficult to undo.'

Another uncomfortable shuffling broke out among the watchers. The youngest Auror, Nymphadora Tonks, was least diplomatic in her expression. She looked from Albus to Fudge with a deep frown.

Dolores Umbridge merely smiled. 'As sagacious as your advice always is, headmaster, perhaps now you can see my point. Remus Lupin cannot possibly maintain a post at Hogwarts school. This law makes it impossible for –'

'Forgive me, Dolores,' Albus interrupted with an apologetic bow of his head, 'But that is not my understanding at all. The legislation may indeed limit the Ministry, and most businesses who accept Ministry funding or pay taxes to the government. But in your haste to ensure the rule of law I believe you have forgotten Hogwarts' position.'

'Hogwarts _is_ funded by the Ministry!' she snapped, abruptly losing some of her sweetness.

Albus smiled. 'It is, in part,' he agreed. 'But the school is far older even than the Wizards Council that preceded the Ministry, and the laws that mandate its governance cannot be overruled without specifically directed Educational legislation, subject to the approval of the Wizengamot. Staffing decisions remain in the sole discretion of the headmaster.'

His tone had never reached anger. But there was a sticky silence all the same. Fudge – who had seemed quite content to let his underling fight his battle – cleared his throat. 'Yes… well, true enough, Dumbledore, true enough. But we are not here to discuss legislation. We are here about the events in Cornwall.'

A young witch entered from a side door off the dais, in the uniform of the Ministry house-keeping staff. She set a jug and glass on the table next to Remus, poured a measure of water, and smiled at him before departing again. Remus muttered a thanks and reached for it – but Albus, who had been watching Kingsley lean back in his chair with a grim expression, hastened to his side.

He put out a hand to stop the water glass's progress. He studied it a moment, and suddenly he felt little desire to control his temper any longer. The room seemed to darken a fraction as Albus lifted the glass, sending small prisms to gleam off the marble as its water caught the candlelight.

He raised his eyes from the water glass to the Ministry officials, several of whom were looking abruptly very tense. All except Umbridge seemed to be watching in great trepidation. She, alone, with calculation. The room lay utterly silent.

When Albus spoke at last, his voice remained friendly and light. But the undercurrent of power was lost on none in the chamber. Both members of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures shivered, and several of the Aurors flinched.

'I do hope, Cornelius, that you do not intend to use Veritaserum on a man against whom you have no proof of crime.'

Fudge went scarlet, stammering as though a third-year student the headmaster had caught sneaking into the kitchens after curfew. But Dolores Umbridge gave a throat-clearing cough.

'Surely, Mr Dumbledore –'

'It is Professor Dumbledore, Madam,' Albus corrected. 'Or headmaster.'

Her eyes flashed. 'Professor Dumbledore, you surely do not mean to direct the investigative efforts of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Such decisions are not in your purview to take.'

Albus looked past her and Fudge to lock eyes with Rufus Scrimgeour, and then with Amelia Bones. 'They are not,' he agreed quietly. 'Mr Scrimgeour, you are head of the Auror Office. Have you authorised such enhanced interrogation methods?'

The Auror sat ramrod straight, his lips a thin line. Albus could read in every fibre of his being how deeply he loathed playing a centrepiece in the chess match unfolding before him.

But when he answered, his voice was terse and sure. 'I have not.'

Albus turned to the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, upon whose monocle one of the prisms still gleamed. 'And you, Madam Bones? Though I do not deem it likely you would countenance such a breach of wizarding rights.'

Madam Bones bristled. She too was frowning deeply, but she shot her glare upon the Minister before she too replied in a deep, booming voice: 'Indeed I did not. The use of Veritaserum is highly regulated for a reason. If we are to slip it into the goblet of every wizard to come across our sacred halls, what better folk are we than those who stood before the Skull and Snake, bending the will of others to their purpose with the Imperious Curse?'

Albus smiled grimly. 'I could not have put it better, Amelia.' He looked to Fudge again, and his eyes held the quiet fire of power once more. 'The Ministry has given way before to the temptation to fight cruelty with cruelty. And each time the world has suffered for the misstep. We can counter the wiles of the enemy only with our own strength of morality, Cornelius. I urge you – do not fall into the pit of your forebearers.'

The Minister did not squirm in his seat. But only, thought Albus, through great effort. He stared hard down at Dumbledore for a long moment, seeming as though he could not decide between offence and shame.

At last, he cleared his throat and looked around as though aghast. 'If – if indeed the water contains Veritaserum, it was certainly not on _my_ account! An error of the kitchens, surely. Perhaps they mistook our presence in the courtroom as an arrest. But, of course… merely necessitated by the large number of us needed for the interview. Convenience, as you do.'

'Of course,' agreed Albus. He vanished the jug and glass with a flick of his wand and, swirling it in the air, replaced them with a glistening goblet of his own. Remus, who had spoken not a word since the headmaster's entry, sipped it in continued silence.

Fudge straightened his bowler hat. 'If we might return to the matter at hand then, Dumbledore… I presume you come with some further witness to add?'

Albus nodded. 'I have indeed. On the eve before last, until the rise of the moon, Remus was working at the castle in preparation for the coming term and change of staff – under my own direction. I myself administered Wolfsbane at twilight and saw him into secure chambers for the transformation, as no doubt he has told you. He did not venture out in search of blood between the sun's set and rise, and to that I would gladly swear. If Sirius Black has found himself a werewolf companion, you shall need to broaden your search from my own halls. Now, are there any questions for me?'

Another long silence met him. Umbridge was frowning, as were one or two of the Aurors. Fudge looked only chastened. Scrimgeour, grimmest and stillest of the lot, stared impassive upon them. Nobody spoke.

Albus set a hand on Remus' shoulder. 'In that case, I shall presume your interview has concluded. Remus – come. You have work to return to. Cornelius, I shall await you in your office.'

And with that the headmaster led Remus from the grand courtroom, shutting their great gilded doors with a wave of his hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus returned to chopping his Valerian. But from the corner of his eye, he kept a wary watch on Potter. The boy was staring more than reading, his eyes half-drooping and then jolting open again as he forced them ajar. It was a long ten minutes before he turned the page, and he did so with an irritated huff.

At last, Severus could stand it no longer. He pushed himself away from his work station, striding across the room. Potter did not look up from his glazed reading. Severus flicked his wand, and the book slammed suddenly shut. The boy gave a muffled yelp and pulled his head hastily backwards, rubbing his nose where the cover had swiped it. He looked up with some surprise to find Severus towering over him.

'Wha –'

Severus jerked his head. 'Get up, Potter. If you refuse to sleep and you cannot be trusted to learn on your own – you will assist _me_ instead.'

He swept back for the work table, summoning over a second stool for the boy. Potter took it and sat without a word.

'Touch nothing without leave,' Severus warned as he retook his own seat.

Potter placed his hands in his lap. 'What are you working on, sir?'

'Skele-gro,' answered Severus. 'You will not have read the receipt yet, I expect. The potion is not taught below N.E.W.T. level at Hogwarts.'

Potter grimaced. 'No, but I've taken it before. Second year – after that Quidditch match and Lockhart.'

Severus nodded once. He well remembered the supreme incompetence of yet another of Dumbledore's dismal choices in Defence personnel. At least Lockhart could harm nobody now… unlike the latest two.

'Indeed, Potter. Then you ought to know what its uses are.'

'Re-growing bones,' he answered at once. 'Though it's awfully slow. It took over a day when I was in hospital.'

'You were regenerating thirty-three bones at the time,' Severus reminded him. 'The potion works faster when there are fewer to attend to, or less serious damage to repair. Be grateful it could be given at all. There is no such remedy in the Muggle world, and even Skele-gro is useless where dark magic has removed the bone.'

'Is it?' asked Potter in surprise.

'You know better than most that dark curses can leave permanent injury,' Severus pointed out. There was a pause. Potter touched his scar, frowning. Severus summoned a mortar and pestle. 'In any event, blatant idiocy does not amount to dark magic. And Skele-gro is less commonly used to re-grow bones than it is to mend them.'

'I did wonder why Madam Pomfrey had it about,' muttered Potter ruefully. 'It seemed an unlikely accident, vanishing someone's bones.'

'You have proven particularly prone to unlikely accidents,' said Severus dryly.

The boy scowled again. 'But why would you need a potion to fix a broken bone? Madam Pomfrey can mend them in about ten seconds with a charm.'

'Madam Pomfrey, talented though she may be, is not omnipotent. Healing is among the most difficult of the magical arts. A charm may suffice to mend a simple fracture, if the Healer is sufficiently skilled. But complex breaks often require Skele-gro lest the bone become weakened permanently. Age may also play a factor – for elderly bones are weaker than those of children. Re-injured bones are similarly difficult, as are those which have been left too long before the healing and set incorrectly.'

Potter fidgeted, rubbing his left hand over the arm that had once been naught but flesh. Severus gestured to the table between them.

'Madam Pomfrey often purchases the school supply of Skele-gro, for it is infrequently used and takes a great deal of time to brew. This year, however, she will stock thrice her usual store – and in such quantity it seemed more prudent to make the potion at the castle.'

'Because of the Tri-wizard Tournament?' Potter interjected excitedly. 'Does she think the champions will break many bones, then?'

'It is… not out of the realm of possibility,' Severus answered carefully. 'The tournament has been notoriously dangerous in the past, and Poppy is a cautious witch.'

Potter's face grew alight at the possibility, as all foolish and eager young wizards' would do – those who had not yet learnt what suffering and pain adventure could bring; who risked their own necks for the thrill of it, for age had not yet taught them that the necks of the young snap just as quickly as those of the old. The sight of it made Severus angry.

'As thrilling as imagining the maiming of students may be, Potter – it is not the task I have called you to attend.'

Potter looked slightly chagrined. He nodded. Severus set a bundle of snake grass and a jar of turmeric before him, and summoned a second mortar and pestle.

'Equisetum strengthens the healing bone, and turmeric calms inflammation. In Skele-gro, they must added in a paste. Mince the snake grass, and infuse it with the turmeric using the pestle. You may add a few drops of water to bind if the mixture seems dry. One teaspoon of turmeric to each stalk of the herb. Collect the paste in this.' From beneath the table, he brought forth a bowl. 'Any questions, Potter?'

The boy studied the ingredients for a moment. 'How much of the paste shall I make, sir?'

Severus nodded at the vast bundle. 'Work until you run out of equisetum. The infusion will keep several months with the correct statis charm, if there should be extra.'

He handed Potter a silver knife and busied himself with the cauldron, setting a low flame to simmer as he constructed a base tonic of ashwagandha and extract of red clover. For well over an hour they worked in silence – if not companionable, then at least free of open hostility. The boy seemed to waken with the task. And though he took longer to dice then was necessary, Severus did not bother to chastise him. He had always found peace in potion-making. And he found it now, even in the midst of turmoil; even in the presence of Harry Potter.

He passed an ewer of still water to the boy, who was grinding hard at the mortar. 'With the next batch, try mincing less at a time,' he advised. 'And finer. The paste is harder to form if the pieces are too large.'

'Yes, sir.' Potter nodded as he measured out a small amount of water with the dropper.

Severus went back to his own work, crushing dandelion flowers painstakingly with his fingers while a stirrer swirled on its own within the cauldron below. As the afternoon crept by and evening fell in, Potter's stomach began to growl audibly. He had finished his paste of snake grass and – under the professor's critical eye – was folding it slowly into the rust-coloured potion between them.

Severus glanced at his watch. They had been at this nearly four hours. 'This is as good a place as any to pause. The infusion must stew thirty-six hours before the next phase.'

He reached into the satchel next to the table. From within, he withdrew a tiny, precious phial of golden liquid wrapped in purple violet. Potter watched, wide-eyed. He gave a sharp intake of breath.

'Is that _liquid luck_?' he asked in awe. 'I read about it – in Defence with Remus last summer…'

Severus shot him a stern look. ' _Felix Felicis_ is its proper name,' he corrected. 'And no, though it bears some visual similarity. This is a sample of Re'em blood. Very rare, very valuable, and very powerful.'

Potter's expression of wonder morphed into confusion. He checked the receipt for Skele-gro, which – though Severus himself had no need of it – he had placed before Potter on the table for educational purposes. Severus held his tongue while the boy puzzled it out.

'It's not on here,' he realised after a moment. 'Is it for another of these potions, or… what does it do, anyway? What's a re'em?'

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'You have not reached them, I suppose, in Care of Magical Creatures. But perhaps you heard of them before Hogwarts? They make several appearances – though inexpertly recounted – in the King James Bible. I believe Muggle versions have translated the word to unicorn.'

Potter shook his head. 'My aunt and uncle were never very religious. They only ever went at Christmas and Easter and they almost never brought me along, unless Mrs Figg was out of town.'

Severus was somewhat surprised. Lily's parents had been frequent attendees at the village church, and brought both their girls in childhood. He could remember helping her into her ribbons and dusting off her hat, when the two of them had run amok in the park or river before Sunday services.

Potter spoke on at his silence. 'Are they a type of unicorn, then? Unicorn blood is silver.'

He cleared his throat. 'The re'em is a magical creature, and exceedingly rare. Many times in the last century they had been feared extinct. The beast resembles a common ox, but far larger and of golden hide, with a single magical horn. It bares little other similarity to the unicorn, except in the value of its blood. Unlike the unicorn, however, the blood of the re'em will not curse one who ingests it.'

'And do they live in the forest then too, sir? I've never seen them.'

'Have you come across many unicorns in your wanderings of the _Forbidden_ Forest?' Severus countered.

Potter's face blanched slightly, and his fingers strayed for a moment to rub absently at the lightning scar. 'Only… only a dead one, sir. First year, when Quirrell…'

Severus regretted his snide remark. Thoughts of Quirrell set his blood near to boiling again. Aloud, he said only, 'That is not uncommon. The unicorn is a shy creature and highly secretive, particularly towards men. But the re'em you would not find in any forest in Britain. They are native to the wilds of North America and the Far East, and what few remain do not linger near to human settlement. Their blood is immensely difficult to find. I myself only just managed to procure this phial from a market in Luxembourg.'

He carefully measured out three droplets and let them fall into the brew. Potter was watching him again.

'But… it's not in the receipt, sir,' he pointed out in confusion.

'I am well aware of the instructions to brew Skele-gro, Potter. But magic is not a stagnant art, nor is Potions – as I have told you before – an exercise in reading and maths alone. Certain healing potions may be fortified greatly with the addition of a trace of re'em blood.'

Potter watched the golden drops on the surface of the potion within. They shimmered and pooled like oil on water, unwilling to be separated from their own.

'You said it was valuable,' he repeated. 'And powerful…. Why? What does it do?'

'The blood of the Re'em gives strength to the drinker when taken alone. It is a finite surge, but an immensely powerful one. Added to Skele-gro, I have found it increases the potency of the brew and shortens its work to heal.'

Potter stared, mouth open rather stupidly. 'But – if you discovered it, why don't you sell it? A sort of… improved Skele-gro, or –'

'Have you not been listening?' Severus cut in, slightly short again. 'Re'em are rare, and their blood exceedingly expensive. It is both impractical and nigh to impossible to mass market a potion with such an ingredient, and devastating to the magical beast itself. Demand has driven the re'em to the brink of extinction as it is… and already for the value of its blood alone.'

In fact, to _use_ the blood was not everywhere legal… and the market from which Severus acquired this personal supply was not precisely above-board. But to say such things to this boy was out of the question.

Potter's stomach gave another loud rumble. He flushed. Severus checked his watch once more.

'It is early for supper, but I will order a late tea, as it is evident you did not have lunch before our arrival. Several of these others will need tending in the next hour.'

Potter bit his lip. 'Is Albus…'

'I do not keep the headmaster's timetable, Potter,' he reminded him sharply again, though he himself was anxious for Dumbledore's return.

He summoned a House-elf, who appeared moments later with sandwiches, a cold soup, a steaming pot of tea and Potter's favoured pumpkin juice (though Severus had not requested the latter). The little creature bowed low to him and gave a nod and a wink to the boy before departing.

Severus floated the tray to the tea table and conjured an oversized napkin for Potter with an admonishment not to spill on the carpet. They sat awkwardly across from one another to eat. Devoid of his potions task and faced with another silence, Potter began to look pinched and pained again. Despite the calls of his stomach, he picked unenthusiastically at a corner of a cucumber and coriander sandwich.

Severus inwardly cursed Dumbledore for his inexcusable delay. He ran a nonverbal diagnostic.

Potter looked up as the golden light began to thrum through him. 'What are you doing, sir? I'm not ill.'

Severus raised a brow distrustfully. He did not respond, but caught the little slip of parchment and glared down at it.

'I'm not,' Potter repeated, this time triumphantly, as Severus banished the useless parchment without reply.

'Then what is causing this loathsome lethargy?' Severus demanded. 'I do not take to sulking teenagers, Potter. Particularly whist in summer holidays.'

Potter shrugged defensively. 'I have a headache,' he said yet again.

The professor gave a long sigh. Potter peeled off a bit of crust and nibbled it like a timid cat.

'Stop mauling your sandwich and eat it. And perhaps I will give you another dose of headache potion rather than Draught of Living Death.'

Potter swallowed a more respectable bite and looked up with a hopeful – and quite cheeky – smirk. 'Maybe I could try some of that golden blood?'

Severus glowered. 'Not in this lifetime, Potter.'

They finished the meal with another stretch of long silence. Severus banished the empty plates. He summoned another headache draught for the boy and threw a log onto the dying fire against the ever-present chill of the dungeon. He saw to a few of the needier cauldrons, and sank back onto his seat to finish the pot of tea. On the opposite sofa, Potter had curled his legs beneath him with his own cup, dangerously tippy in lax fingers. His eyes had drifted to the back of the room, unfocused and half-lidded, and Severus wondered if perhaps he would give in to sleep at last.

With a nonverbal charm, he summoned the precarious teacup before it could crash on his carpet. Potter did not seem to notice it go. Severus set his own at last to the side, and rose to add aniseed to the Stomach Soother brewing in the back corner.

'I know who it was.'

He had just reached the work table when Potter spoke. He scowled to himself as he dug about in a small case of herbs. With the whisper, his hopes for a Potter-free peace of an evening were dashed.

'And who might that be?' he returned, finding the tiny snuffbox at last and shaking it vigorously between two fingers to quicken the fruits.

'I know who it was,' Potter repeated quietly. 'Well… no, I suppose I don't. But I recognised the voice.'

Severus paused over the bubbling cauldron, piercing the boy with a stare through furls of silver vapour. 'What voice?'

'The one who conjured the Dark Mark,' Potter clarified. 'In the woods… I wasn't sure, the first time. But then he said the spell and I knew…'

Severus waited, daring not even to blink. The furls of vapour grew thicker and more insistent. But the boy was gazing with glazed eyes at the spiralling smoke from the cauldron of Skele-gro, seeming unwilling to continue.

After several long moments, Severus cleared his throat pointedly. 'If you are pausing for dramatic effect, Potter…'

The green gaze snapped back to him. 'It was the man from Edinburgh. The one who tried to impersonate _you_.'

Severus was not exactly surprised. But the information still intrigued him. He dropped the aniseed into the cauldron, which calmed beneath him.

'You believed that wizard was using Polyjuice Potion,' he said carefully. 'If that were the case, Potter, his voice would be none but mine. As you ought to remember from your own… _exploits_.'

Potter shook his head. 'It was, for the most part. But the potion had started to fade about the time I broke free. In the end, his voice was higher… and the spell…'

He shuddered.

Severus hesitated. He dared not return to the sofa, lest Potter halt his sudden forthrightness under penetrating gaze. So he moved instead to the centre station and sat, sorting scarab beetles to give both himself and Potter something else to watch.

'What did you see of this man last night?'

'Nothing. We were sort of fumbling about, trying to get into deeper cover and away from the chaos like Mr Weasley had said. I don't know exactly where we were, but we stopped for a minute. Ron and Hermione were arguing; and I thought I heard him say my name… But it was all so confusing, and then I couldn't see anybody in the trees, and I thought I had imagined it. But then a bit farther on when we'd stopped running, I heard him again. He cast the spell – and the Dark Mark appeared, almost right above us.'

'You saw nothing of him?' Severus shot, a bit terse in his frustration.

'No. Neither did the Ministry. They found Winky – the elf. But it couldn't have been her… she only found the wand. _My_ wand.'

Severus ground his teeth. They had spoken already of Potter's foolishness in misplacing his wand on the boy's first, more selective, retelling of the events. That he had recovered it at all was a miracle – though precisely of the type that seemed always to cling to Potter at the last. That the Death Eater had used it, on the other hand, was a master stroke.

'What about in Edinburgh? What do you recall of his person, when the enchantment had started to wear off?'

The boy frowned. He was rubbing his head again – whether his scar or merely his right temple, Severus could not tell from this angle. 'Not much,' he confessed after a moment. 'He was shorter than you, I reckon. He'd started to shrink, and his hair was lightening. It might have been blond but… I'm not certain. I didn't have much time and I was…'

He trailed off, but Severus finished for him. 'You had been tortured.'

Potter shrugged. Or shivered. Again, it was difficult for Severus to tell. Either way, the emotion in the room made him highly uncomfortable.

'And when you told the Ministry your dire theories? What had they to say?'

But the boy shook his head. 'I… I didn't,' he admitted quietly. 'I didn't know whether… I don't _think_ they even know about Edinburgh. Albus never mentioned that they did, at least. And I don't think he…' the boy trailed off, shrugging. 'I wanted to talk to him first. I wanted to tell him this morning, but he only called for a moment and he seemed so busy…. And I would have told Mr Weasley, maybe, but there was never a moment when we were alone.'

Severus stared, honestly surprised for the first time. A part of him was shockingly pleased. The horror of inquiries and interviews and nightmare administrative interference he had envisioned in the past five minutes suddenly faded into obscurity at the boy's astounding turn to discretion. And Potter was right – though he had stopped short of saying it. The headmaster's distrust of the Ministry stretched back longer than Severus had been alive, though even he rarely heard it expressed outright. Certainly, Albus would appreciate that he could control this bit of unwelcome knowledge. He had never wanted Potter under Fudge's thumb.

And the other part of Severus boiled. So the boy was learning more than magic at the headmaster's knee. Secrets and lies; cards held too close to the chest…

 _Is that not what you excel in?_ A nasty voice whispered in his brain.

 _No_. No. Severus was a spy master because he must be. Severus had daemons too dark for unearthing; lies that sellotaped survival. _Potter_ kept his silence because that is what he suspected, perhaps correctly, that Albus would ask him to do.

And Severus could not quite decide why it bothered him so.

'They thought it was _me_ , at first, or some of them did,' Potter confessed, speaking again into the pause. 'Mr Weasley talked them down.'

Severus scoffed, more comfortable in this vein. 'The Ministry has ever attracted a few of the over-zealous among its favoured ranks. But it would take much, I'd wager, to convince anyone with half a brain that the Boy Who Lived had learnt magic known only to the Dark Lord's inner circle.'

Potter half smiled. 'That's what Mr Weasley said, more or less. But… it _is_ my fault, sort of. It was my wand…'

Severus rolled his eyes to the ceiling, cursing the headmaster again for his absence. But he gave Potter a stern look. 'It is your fault,' he agreed.

Potter's head turned sharply to him, shock and hurt on his face.

'It is your fault,' he qualified, 'That you found yourself in the midst of a dangerous situation without your weapon. Better wizards than you have been struck down for less stupidity. Even those with great skill in wandless magic – and you are far from mastery in that field. It is not, however, in any manner _your_ fault that a servant of the Dark Lord used your wand to incite a mass panic.'

Potter flushed. 'But if I hadn't been stupid, like you said –'

'Would you consider Weasley to blame, if the wand had been his? Or Granger?'

'I… no,' the boy admitted. 'But still –'

'If you are looking for absolution, you are searching in the wrong place,' said Severus curtly. 'If you wish to consider the facts, then I have laid them at your feet. I would suggest you learn from your mistake, Potter. The next time you may not be so lucky.'

He went back to his scarab beetles. It was another ten minutes before Potter spoke again.

'One thing I don't understand, though.'

'Just the one?'

Severus sent the jar to a high shelf with his wand. Potter watched it fit itself in between essence of Murtlap and several baskets of dried sage.

'If the man was so set on killing me in Edinburgh, why didn't he go for it in the woods last night? There were no fully qualified wizards about. I didn't have my wand…'

Severus had no answer to this, for it had become the question foremost in his own mind. He did not reply for several minutes, fiddling instead with the arrangement of herbs on the table. _Why_ would this unknown Death Eater – who they knew had designs on Potter's life – waste such precious opportunity to destroy him, when the boy was so rarely beyond Dumbledore's protection? Why would he instead cast the Dark Mark into the sky, when any fool would have known it would bring the Ministry down upon him in moments?

It frustrated Severus. It unnerved him.

Potter pulled himself up to look over the back of the sofa. 'Sir?'

'I cannot rationalise the actions of a mad man,' he answered dismissively. 'Perhaps the headmaster will have an answer, whenever he deigns to return to the school.'

Potter sank down again – this time so low that only the top of his unruly mop of hair was visible from Severus' stool. 'Yeah,' he agreed in a mumble. 'Yeah… maybe.'

'In the meanwhile, I suggest you return to this.' Severus floated the abandoned Potions text to the tea table. 'Perhaps now you will have better ability to concentrate.'

The boy did not speak a reply, but he opened the book obediently. This time, however, it was Severus who found concentration beyond him as he pondered uneasy and unanswerable questions.

After a time, he summoned another cauldron and began the process of brewing Pepper-up. He knew the hospital wing was already sufficiently stocked… but it never hurt to have extra in store at the start of a new term. The potion was familiar and relatively simple, and Severus could work through the steps without thought. It comforted both his mind and hands to brew from muscle memory. The air soon filled with a sweet, spiced fragrance that conquered the dungeon's faint musk as the base began to stew. The sporadic turning of pages from the sofa, however, had fallen absent once more.

'If you continue to find the theory so trifling, Potter, you may come and shave the bicorn horn.'

There was no response.

'Potter?'

He turned, but Potter was not listening. He had fallen asleep were he sat, his glasses bent awkwardly against the huge textbook where his cheek rested upon it. Grumbling under his breath, Severus set a statis charm over the cauldron and quit his stool. He plucked the tome from slackened fingers and the glasses from the boy's face and set both on his tea table instead. He summoned a blanket from a corner cupboard, and floated it over the huddled form with a sniff.

And he returned to his cauldrons, wondering how many sins he had vanished today – allowing the Potter brat to sleep on his sofa.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Night had fallen a good hour before Albus at last reached the gates of his school. It was a warm night, and humid, and the air sat heavy in his lungs as the headmaster crossed through the gates and began to trod the familiar steps up the hillside. Stars gleamed in the thousands in the indigo sky above, and he felt the weight of their judgment as keenly as his breath. The turrets seemed to take an age to crest the hill.

He was wearier than he had been in years. And yet his wits felt sharper than ever they had, as if to belie the burden of age. He could see, tonight, farther than he had done these past thirteen years – when the dawn of war had been but a formless fear that some distant tomorrow might hold. Complacency had long been the bane of those who dwelt too long in peace. Albus had known this, and he had planned for it. Always, he had looked to the future – to that remote day when evil would reform; where nameless masses would die lest they be prepared to face it. Albus had never thought himself to be idle… yet even now he realised that he too had tarried too long in the comforting arms of peace.

But no more.

Foes took shape in the glass, shadows crept forth unseen, and the time to face the enemy ticked ever nearer. There was clarity to be found in it. And Albus knew. He must as yet heed his own advice. He could not fall into the trap he foresaw. He could not forget his duty.

The great oak doors opened before him without need of hand or spell. Albus crossed to the Great Hall. But he found it deserted – its hearths untended and barren, and the table long since cleared. He walked the length of it anyhow, trailing his fingers along the aged, smooth wood. He stopped when he reached his own high chair. His fingers wrapped around the raised posts of its back. Rare it was indeed that he stood alone in this great chamber, devoid of his children and staff.

A little elf popped up in front of him. 'Will Master Dumbledore be wanting supper?' she squeaked.

'No, not just yet, thank you, Lara. I shall take something in my chambers tonight.'

She bowed uncertainly and winked out of sight. Albus let out a deep sigh.

'You're late, Dumbledore.'

He turned towards the door, where Alastor stood framed, leant against his staff and frowning. Albus was surprised he had not heard him approach.

He smiled. 'I wasn't aware that I had an engagement. Nor did I think to see you here so early, Alastor. Had we not agreed on Wednesday?'

'Aye, we agreed it,' said Moody, echoing every other step as he came to face Albus at the table. 'But I thought to have a look in a bit earlier – given everything that's gone on these past few days.' He fixed the headmaster with a one-eyed, penetrating stare. The electric blue magical eye rolled dizzyingly in its socket.

'Well you are more than welcome, as ever,' Albus replied. 'Though I fear if you are needing my counsel, you may be disappointed. For I have need to be much away from the castle in the next week.'

'Your counsel, no. Your classroom, maybe. I should like to do a bit of… individualisation, in advance of the students' arrival.'

'Very well,' Albus consented, twinkling. 'So long as it is nothing that shall put any of our young charges in danger.'

'Nothing that will imperil life or limb,' said Moody carelessly – and Albus made a mental note to ensure that either he or Minerva took a moment to inspect said classroom before the first of September. 'But speaking of all what might endanger your students, Albus – we need to discuss Snape.'

'Alastor, I have asked you before,' Albus began, in a tone much less genial, 'Do not antagonise one another whilst you are colleagues at my school. Do not throw veiled threats about without thought, especially while others are within hearing. We are all on the same side. A cessation of internal hostilities as we prepare together for the coming of war does not seem a great deal to ask.'

'You put too much trust in him,' Alastor accused. 'You have done for years, Dumbledore. What makes you so sure the turncoat will not turn again? How can you be certain of his loyalties?'

'It is enough that I _am_ certain, Alastor. Or it will have to be for now. If you cannot learn to tolerate one another –'

'I can tolerate even those I distain, Albus,' Moody dismissed. 'I have been doing so for years. But I will never come to understand the ease with which you entrust him with information that might give our enemies the power to destroy us. Entrust him even with your precious Boy Who Lived.'

'Severus would not suffer harm to come to Harry,' Albus disagreed. 'Not if it is within his power to avoid it.'

Alastor guffawed sceptically. 'I'm not sure the boy would agree with you. He didn't look too happy to be sharing his company this afternoon.'

At this, the headmaster looked up sharply. 'This afternoon?'

'Aye. I came upon them out in the grounds, not long past midday.' His gaze grew shrewder, and he splayed one gnarled hand on the table top. 'He took the boy without your command?'

Smoothing away his surprise and concern, Albus smiled. 'It has been a long day, and I am weary. I must see to Harry, Alastor, and then I think to bed.'

And without answering the query, he swept from the hall.

'Headmaster,' Severus greeted, nodding as he stepped back to allow him to pass into the laboratory some ten minutes later. 'You are late.'

'So I have been told,' said Albus lightly. 'Had we an appointment I have missed out?'

Severus shut the door and turned, crossing his arms. 'You jest as though you did not dismiss me so abruptly in the middle of a night when terror gripped the wizarding world? I would think you, of all others, would take such matters seriously.'

Albus sighed. 'I do not jest, Severus. And from what I have heard, you have taken the matter seriously enough for the both of us.'

The professor bristled. He waved his wand in silent incantation. 'I did what I judged best, Dumbledore. Though you seem to have thought your time best spent elsewhere – _I_ stepped in to deal with the boy, yet again.'

'So it would seem. And where have you hidden my ward, Severus, after unilaterally you chose to remove him from the company of his friends?'

Severus jerked his head to the left, and Albus, coming around the corner, felt his face soften. Harry lay fast asleep on one of the long sofas, oblivious to the tension in the room. He realised the unspoken spell had been a charm of silence.

'The boy is perfectly safe,' Severus assured as the headmaster approached him. 'Or he is _now_ ,' he added pointedly.

'And sleeping on your sofa, though it is not yet half past nine,' Albus observed. 'Ought I to be worried you have spelled him so, Severus, or have I exchanged the bedside of one invalid for another?'

Severus scowled. He ignored the first enquiry. 'He has merely exhausted himself. He suffered a headache this afternoon, but there was nothing amiss I could find.'

The headmaster nodded pensively. 'Not physically, at least,' he whispered. He pulled the blanket higher over Harry's sleeping form, covering an arm that had worked itself free. He sat himself on the edge of the tea table.

'And if there is other damage, who bears the fault for that?' the professor demanded.

Albus turned, studying Severus over his half-moon spectacles. His face bore every sign of contempt.

'You left the Boy Who Lived in the throes of danger… and for what, headmaster? To play nursemaid to a thirty-five-year-old idiot who has shown himself incapable of rational thought since the age of eleven?'

Albus sighed. 'Harry was not in danger, Severus, as I told you last night. At least, he was not by the time news of the World Cup events had reached me. Setting forth to uproot Harry from his tent in the dead of night would have made no difference.'

Severus snarled. 'Has it not occurred to you, headmaster, to question the identity of the man who cast the Dark Mark into the sky? Had you not _wondered_ , in your eminent wisdom, who would dare raise His sign again? Did you not consider, while holding _Black's_ hand, that the boy stood inches from a deadly enemy beneath those trees?'

'I have considered all the above,' Albus assured him, in the gentle tone one might use with an over-hysterical child. 'And had I been at the match as I had intended – or indeed had word of the events as they unfolded – I would of course have intervened. As it was, Harry was safely returned to the Weasleys before news of the night reached me, and the perpetrator had long since vanished. As to his identity –'

'The boy recognised him,' Severus cut in.

Albus was temporarily stunned out of his explanation as the professor recounted Harry's confidence of that afternoon. When he had finished, Albus frowned down at the sleeping boy again, stroking his bead in deep thought.

'A worrying development indeed,' he agreed quietly.

'Perhaps it would not have been,' Severus hissed, 'Had you been at the match where you ought and not holed away in Cornwall. Perhaps _then_ , headmaster, we might have halted this unrest in its tracks.'

'I was where I felt was most needed at the time, Severus. And while I am flattered by your faith in my abilities, I am neither omnipotent nor blessed with the Sight.'

Severus growled. 'Perhaps not. But after all our caution and intrigue this summer; these fever dreams of Potter's; the Dark Mark's stir; does it _really_ come to shock you that in the very moment he is freed from your sight, the boy runs headlong into danger?'

'Severus – I cannot shield him forever from every horror in this world. Especially now.'

Harry stirred between them – Severus poised over the back of the sofa and Albus on the tea table. The Potions Master froze for a moment as though in fear his charm had not held. But Harry merely shifted to his side, mumbled something intelligible, and slept on. Severus raised his glare to the headmaster's face again. He dropped his voice all the same.

' _Now_ you decide the brat must mature, when you do naught but bleat to me of the need to protect his youth and innocence for years? When you chastise _me_ every time I press you on the point. He cannot be both child and grown, headmaster. He cannot be both coddled and wise.'

'One has nothing to do with the other,' said Albus calmly. 'And you are wrong, Severus. I will keep Harry from harm where I can, and I will protect what precious time he has to be young and free of the burdens that one day he must shoulder – where I can. Yet to be fit to shoulder such burdens, he must also learn. He needs to see, or he will never understand. And he must understand to know.'

'Riddles as ever, Dumbledore!' Severus railed in a hoarse whisper-shout. He gripped the back of the sofa with whitened fingers. 'I do not understand you. How can one man be simultaneously overprotective to a fault and yet supremely negligent?'

Albus studied the man before him carefully. Severus was ever the master Occlumens, as he had been since childhood. Yet the headmaster could read his subtleties all the same. His face was sallow – more so than his usual – and the corners of his lips and eyes held tension in tiny creases that soon would not yield their hold. His shoulders could have borne the weight of a sudden charge as adeptly as buried pylons in their rigid set. And in his eyes, cloaked in shadow, lingered still a desperate spark that perhaps only the headmaster could see.

He would have placed a hand over the pale fingers, if he was not certain they would be jerked away.

'It is natural to be frightened, Severus,' said Albus quietly. 'A great deal has been asked of you.'

Severus scoffed. He pushed himself off the sofa and crossed his arms over his chest. 'I am not afraid, Dumbledore! Just because I have been forced to step in _again_ to pluck Potter from the clutches of the enemy… And do not think I have no mind to what you are doing, headmaster. You cannot force the boy upon me; I have told you a dozen times…'

But Albus merely smiled sadly. 'You are,' he disagreed. You are so full of fear that you cannot bear to speak of it. It gnaws at your sleep and sets its tendrils to corrupt your waking hours. It brings the worst to the forefront of your mind and convinces you that it is more sense than trepidation. It sours your trust in others, and destroys your faith in yourself. And ever does it grow in the depths of your heart as hours pass.'

Severus stared. Albus sighed.

'There is no shame in it, my dear boy. For it is also in my heart.'

Harry stirred on the sofa again. This time, the tossing was frantic. He muttered and jerked, throwing the blanket back and crying out so suddenly that Severus jumped. Albus placed a hand on his brow and murmured a soft spell. Slowly, the boy relaxed into calm again.

When he looked up, the Potions Master's eyes were upon him. To any other, they might have seemed impassive and closed as ever. After a moment Severus broke the gaze with a stifled huff and drifted to the fireside, busying himself in tending the logs.

Albus took his hand from Harry's forehead and stood. He came silently behind the other, and gently clasped his shoulder. He took it as a good sign that the professor did not shrug it off, though he stiffened beneath the touch and did not turn.

'You are so young, Severus.'

The fire plumed as Severus stabbed it violently with a poker. 'I am a man who has lived through war, and – as you are so eager to remind – stands upon the threshold of a second. Any youth I once had has long since left me, Albus.'

'And yet you are still so young. To me, sometimes, the only difference between you and the child on your sofa is that the losses you have endured left different scars.'

'Then you are aged indeed, old man,' Severus grumbled. But he relaxed, ever so slightly, into the hand that still held his shoulder. Albus let him stand a moment in quiet. 'I should not have taken Potter without your leave.'

Albus sighed. 'No, perhaps not,' he agreed. 'And I fear I shall have a very offended Molly Weasley to attend to…'

'I was polite enough.'

'Hmm,' said Albus, though his eyes twinkled. 'Well… I cannot fault your intentions. Even though you appear to think my motives suspect.'

'I did not… What I said about Potter, Albus. I did not mean it.'

Albus squeezed his shoulder. 'I know.'

He released his grip at last and returned to the sofa. Harry slept still, lulled by the magic into peaceful rest once more. Albus was loath to break it, for it was a rare enough sight in and of itself.

Severus turned from the hearth. An odd muscle seemed to twitch at his mouth.

'I shall levitate him to your chambers, if you wish,' he offered.

But Albus bent over and placed a hand on the boy's arm, breaking his own charm and a fraction of his heart. 'Harry?'

Green eyes flickered open, and for a moment looked about in the mild bewilderment of one who awakens to find his dreaming mind has wandered, and his surroundings are unfamiliar. Albus passed him his glasses, and the boy smiled. 'You're back.'

'I am,' Albus agreed. 'Though only just.'

Harry pushed himself to sit on the sofa, lifting the left lens to rub a bit of sleep from his eye. He shook his head slightly and stretched. Then he caught sight of Severus, and blushed a deep crimson. 'I… I'm sorry, professor. I didn't mean –'

Severus waved a hand in dismissal. 'I did tell you to sleep if you wished.'

Harry looked between them with a slight frown. 'Is everything alright?'

Albus smiled. 'Perfectly. But it is rather late, I fear. Would you care for a midnight supper, or do you wish to go to bed?'

'No, I'm starving,' said Harry eagerly. He pushed the blankets aside, rose, and was halfway to the door before he faltered a moment. He paused, looking back to where Albus and Severus still stood in front of the tea table. His face had lost its mirth. 'But I need to talk to you.'

Albus inclined his head. 'Yes. And there will be time enough after supper, I should think. Come – I heard something of treacle tart on my way past the kitchens…'

He guided Harry from the room, leaving Severus brooding into the fire.

 ** **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX****

 **Review Response, Chapter Twenty-Eight**

 **Lost** : Thank you for reviewing! Glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope you'll like Chapter 29!


End file.
